Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands
by Freedom909
Summary: Book I - Bartender, Enjolras, gets more than he bargained for one night when he attempts to flirt with a lonely girl. His life soon becomes entangled in the mess that is Éponine as he attempts to save her from her husband and herself. [Modern AU]
1. Of First Encounters

**A/N: Just a quick one shot idea that came to me while I was out and about today. Hope it's pretty interesting to read. I think it has the makings to be a full story if I feel like stretching it out and making a long plot. But sometimes, things are better left as they are. So please let me know what you think! I am dying to know!**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 1 - Of First Encounters

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"Enjolras! Get over here!" Courfeyrac yelled across the back of the bar.

Enjolras had been busying himself cleaning glasses for the customers but dropped his towel and made his way to the end of the bar.

Luckily for them, a Wednesday night was not a very busy one. There were a few patrons spread out across the long bar counter. Some were together and others sat alone. The noise level was suitable with mainly the noise from the above television playing the hockey game.

Enjolras was grateful for a slower night, he was still new to bar tending and was only doing it to get extra money for the apartment he needed. He loved living with Combeferre, but he needed his space, sooner or later. And he chose sooner. Courfeyrac had suggested he bartend with him some nights to help pick up some extra money and grab a few tips where he could.

"Am I doing something wrong?" Enjolras questioned as he approached Courfeyrac who was now snickering with Grantaire.

Grantaire was currently slumped in his bar stool, drowning himself in a Vodka Tonic.

"Yes! Everything!" Courfeyrac laughed with Grantaire.

Both seemed to be amused at something but Enjolras wasn't getting it. "But I've been cleaning and making drinks just the way you showed me. What's wrong?"

"What's wrong is you look so...depressed!" Grantaire jumped in. "You look like you would rather be anywhere else right now."

"But that's true - "

"No, no. You need to have some fun. Talk to some girls, get some numbers, give 'em a free drink," Courfeyrac added with a flirtatious wink.

"But, I just..." Enjolras cut himself off, looking flustered.

"Now, c'mon, it'll be fun." Courfeyrac eyed around the bar counter until he spotted someone. "Look, go talk to that girl sitting over there." He pointed to her inconspicuously even though she wasn't looking their way. "She looks like she could use some company."

Enjolras looked over to where Courfeyrac had pointed. It was then he spotted the girl with thick, long, dark locks. She had her eyes glued to the television above while sipping on her beer. She seemed nice enough, he figured just by looking at her. And she was definitely alone. But still the thought of trying to flirt and trying to be seductive just turned him off. That just wasn't him. He was the type who would spend his time with his nose in a book rather than try and pick up girls. "Er...I don't know," he decided.

Courfeyrac pushed him gently with his hand. "Go on!" he encouraged.

Enjolras gave a heavy sigh and relented. _Let's just get this over with_, he thought as he headed to the other end of the bar. He reached the end and stopped awkwardly in front of the woman with the long dark locks. His mind was racing. He barely spoke to girls and he was ready for this to be an utter fail. What was he going to say? How was he supposed to flirt?

She didn't take her eyes off the television and so he cleared his throat, not-so-subtly. "Can I get you something to drink?" he offered.

"Already got something," she responded, not missing a beat and even waving her beer in front of his face.

Enjolras mentally slapped himself for being so stupid. So rather than back out now, he figured he'd try a different approach. He'd seen Courfeyrac do this hundreds of times, right? He leaned his elbow on the counter in front of him and gave a crooked grin. "So what brings you to the bar tonight, sweetheart?"

The girl dropped her gaze to him for the first time. She smiled amusingly at him as she lifted up her left hand and wiggled her fingers in his face. It was then he noticed her ring finger bearing a gold band. "Married, hotshot."

Enjolras picked himself up off the bar. His grin fell from his face and he cleared his throat again. "Oh..."

She could only laugh at him as she could tell he obviously didn't do this often and she actually found it rather cute. "Éponine," she stated, looking to make him feel a little less awkward and like less of an idiot.

He half smiled back at her, knowing she picked up on his inexperience in flirting. "Enjolras," he answered with a sigh.

She glanced at the television again. "Well, if you want to know. I came here to watch the hockey game."

"Alone?" He coughed, realizing how abrupt he was. "I mean, like without your husband?" His face was reddening the more the words just fell out of his mouth. "I guess, like, why not just watch it at home?"

She laughed dryly. "My husband doesn't like hockey...he gets mad every time I watch it." Her mind seemed to drift off as she spoke, recurring memories with every word. "So, I come here, and I just don't tell him."

Enjolras grimaced. "That's...sad."

Éponine just shrugged. "It's 'kay. I don't mind."

Enjolras was a little perturbed by this. It clearly wasn't okay. She shouldn't have to do something in secret from her husband. Especially something so small like watching a hockey game. "That's not okay. Why should you have to leave your home just to come watch the game?" he questioned as more of a statement.

She chuckled again to keep the situation from turning serious. "Don't worry. It's okay. I come here _often_ to watch the games," Éponine said as she took a slug of her beer.

Enjolras cooled down and decided to just brush it off. "Alright." He paused, not really knowing what to say in the current awkward silence. "Well then, just consider yourself at home," he concluded, averting his gaze from her.

Éponine's face brightened momentarily. She titled her head to the side and smiled. "_Consider yourself...one of the family,_" she sang.

Enjolras smiled too, recognizing what she was singing. He decided - against his better judgement - to continue. "_We've taken to you...so strong._"

Éponine's ears perked up and she looked straight at him, smiling widely showing off her deep dimples. _"It's clear...we're..._"

_"Going to get along!_" they sang in unison.

Both erupted into a loud laughter. Éponine threw back her head as she laughed and sighed catching her breath. "God! I can't believe you know _Oliver!_ I love that movie!"

Enjolras controlled his laughter, "Yes! I grew up watching that movie all the time. I used to sing the songs all day!"

"Seriously?"

"Not kidding! For such an old movie, the harmonies were incredible! I mean, who doesn't love that little street urchin?" Enjolras was still smiling from ear to ear.

Éponine's expression fell back to one of unhappiness. She looked down at her beer bottle in her hand. "My husband," she mumbled.

Enjolras didn't respond, he didn't really know how to answer that. He stopped laughing, just as she had.

She perked herself up again falsely. "But I love musicals. I have a whole stash of them I keep in my closet." Her eyes became distant again, looking somewhere far off. "Somedays, I take a sick day from work, and I just stay home all day and watch them. I always make sure he doesn't find out though."

Enjolras' face looked puzzled. "He doesn't let you watch them?" he asked bravely.

She sighed, "He doesn't like those kinds of movies. He thinks the music is bad, the plot line is corny, the songs are stupid, and all that jazz..."

Enjolras smiled encouragingly. "Chicago?" he questioned.

She smiled at him in return. "Chicago," she confirmed.

Enjolras leaned on his elbow. "Well, I don't think any musical is stupid," he remarking, returning the grin to his features.

"Then you definitely wouldn't be friends with my husband," she tried to joke. But it just let the conversation lull instead. So in the silence, she looked at the television again. "C'mon! Check 'im!" she yelled at it.

Enjolras turned to look at the game. "Can't believe there's only ten minutes left in the game and they've only taken ten shots on goal."

"Right! They're playing awful tonight. There is no offense, they're only playing defense."

"Seriously, just shoot the puck!" Éponine looked up at Enjolras who was currently watching the game with her. The dim lighting reflected off his chiseled features and his blonde hair stood out against his complexion. His eyes shone a magnificent, sparkling blue that looked so clear, so refreshing. They reminded her of a tropical island surrounded by fresh, blue water. She always wondered what a place like that would feel like. But she knew she would never be able to go to a tropical island and touch the blue water.

The door to the bar slammed shut, bringing a rush of cold air that whipped through the room and brought Éponine out of her daydream.

"Éponine!" an all too familiar voice yelled. Enjolras head turned to the source of the voice and watched a tall, lanky man make his way over to her. With raven black curls, sharp features and dark lips against a pale complexion, his eyes pierced through her like knives. Éponine was visibly shaking now as she winced with each approaching step he took toward her.

She kept her head down, looking at her drink, rather than the impending anger. The man approached her closely as he grabbed her upper arm roughly, making her look at him. "What the hell are you doing here? I've been looking everywhere for you! Brujon told me he saw you come in here, but I said to him, 'No, 'Ponine would be home, waiting for me to get there.' You know how this makes me look?" He shook her roughly when she didn't say anything. Eponine only shut her eyes in response. "Look at me, dammit!" he berated, shaking her again.

She could feel all the eyes in the bar on her, as sure as she could feel the bruises forming on her arms. She peaked open her eyes bravely. "'Parnasse, please. Let me just finish my drink."

"No!" he snapped. "We're going home!" He yanked her up off the bar stool and to her feet.

Éponine quickly gave Enjolras a look. She flashed him an expression of fear mixed with embarrassment and sorrow. "I haven't paid for it yet," she rapidly announced.

Montparnasse growled in frustration as yanked Éponine harder at her insubordination.

"It's on the house," Enjolras thought quickly.

Montparnasse smiled wickedly, looking down at the terrified girl in his hands. "What do you say 'Ponine?" He spoke to her like he was speaking to a child.

She locked eyes with Enjolras. "Thank you," she murmured.

With that, Montparnasse pulled her across the floor, out the doors, and out of the bar.

Enjolras stood there motionless. The buzzer sounded behind him from the television, signaling the end of the game. He was much too in shock to notice anything else in that moment. The last image he had of Éponine haunted him. He would never forget the girl who lived her life in secrets from her husband, the girl who smiled through the pain, and who would never stop loving the monster she called a husband.

He felt guilty for not having done anything more to help her, for not standing up to him, for not arguing back, for not giving her his number, for not protecting her. And what _did_ he do? He paid for her drink. Pathetic. He kept thinking how the end of the night meant a warm bed for him. But for Éponine, she'd be lucky if she would see tomorrow. The guilt consumed him, but there was nothing more he could do.

Still he never stopped thinking about her. He prayed he would see her again, that one day she would show up to watch another hockey game, he would scoop her up, take her home, and never let her leave. He would protect her.

But, so far, that day never came.


	2. Of Second Chances

**A/N: So, against my better judgement and conversing with MaryEvH enough, I decided to make this story longer. Well, I guess you all can let me know if I should keep going or not, cause I'm still not too sure if it's worth it. Thanks for taking the time though to look at this story!**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 2 - Of Second Chances

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It had been a almost year since that night. As the months droned on, Enjolras thought about Éponine less and less. He never saw her come to the bar after that and he assumed he would never cross her path again. He honestly didn't know a thing about her - not even her last name - so finding her was never an option.

The only other option was just to move on. It had been currently three months since he last thought about her. But now as the days were getting colder and hockey season had started back up again, a thought of her entered his mind. He hoped that where ever she was, she was at least enjoying a game from time to time.

Enjolras picked up the flimsy box from the counter holding various folded towels and rags. His boss had asked him on his way to work tonight to stop by the Post Office and pick up the new shipment of rags for the bar. In that years time, Enjolras had been able to find his own apartment, now having enough money to do so, but he still continued to work at the bar with Courfeyrac. Maybe it was because he had gotten really good at bar tending, maybe it was because he enjoyed spending time with Courfeyrac, maybe it was because he could snag a date after work every so often, or maybe it was because he secretly hoped Éponine would stroll back in one day.

He walked down the quaint streets as he carried this large box with thoughts about his new book he just received in the mail that morning. He had been waiting weeks for it. It was an 1861 edition of Charles Dickens' _Great Expectations_ that he spent way more money that he should've on it. He was just excited to go home and read some of it before placing it on his collectors shelf.

Lost in thought about his plans for later that evening, Enjolras did not pay much attention to the couple walking his way. They seemed like a lovely couple from afar. The man was tall as he walked with much poise and elegance. He wore a nice pair of black slacks and a tucked in button down plum shirt. The girl who had her arm wrapped around his walked beside him seamlessly in what must've been three inch heals and a dress so tight fitting, it left nothing to the imagination. The top of it was low cut and the whole dress ended perhaps only two inches below her butt. But over the dress, she had the man's suit jacket draped around her shoulders, hiding most of her dress. The couple didn't really look at each other but walked dutifully side-by-side.

As they passed each other, Enjolras didn't realize how close he was to them and ended up bumping into the girl and spilling the contents of the box everywhere.

The girl gasped in shock, apologizing profusely to Enjolras. Instantly, she had squatted to the ground and began picking up and folding all the rags back together. The man beside her groaned loudly, "How could you be so stupid?" Enjolras winced a little at being called stupid but was about to apologize anyway when the man spoke again, "I'm sorry Sir, she can just be so stupid sometimes."

Enjolras bent to the ground picking up the towels and rags with her and folding them back into the box. "No, it wasn't her fault," he addressed the man and then looked to the girl who wouldn't make eye contact with him, "I'm sorry I bumped into you."

Enjolras could see her hands shaking as she was trying to fold all the towels quickly. His eyes wandered to her chest which was so visible in that low cut dress. He reached out to take the towel from her hand quickly diverting his gaze to her eyes. She looked up at the same time as him and froze.

His eyes became wide the second she froze as well, "Éponine?" he whispered so her, assumably, husband wouldn't hear. She didn't respond but just started back into his eyes.

Her body jerked forward suddenly, breaking eye contact with him, as her husband slightly kicked her, "Well don't just sit there, you idiot, help him." Immediately, Éponine rushed folding the towels again until they were all put neatly back in the box.

"Sorry," she whispered so faintly once more to Enjolras.

But before he stood up, he leaned in close to her ear and whispered for only her to hear, "Come back to the bar." He stood up now holding the box while she got to her feet as her husband yanked her up by the arm. Her eyes were still as wide as saucers as she gazed at Enjolras.

Her husband wrapped her arm back around his. "Goodnight, Sir. Sorry to trouble you." And he led her away.

Enjolras just stood there for a few moments watching her walk down the street. He turned on his heel, heading for the bar. He was in shock as he couldn't believe he actually just ran into her. He was sure it was her, it must've been. She recognized him too, though. And the man she was with looked just like the man that took her away that one fateful night. He'd spent months thinking about her and now here she was again for the first time.

Suddenly, Enjolras was kicking himself. Why didn't he say anything, why didn't he help her? He just let them walk away! But then again, he didn't know her from a hole in the wall. She wasn't his responsibility to take care of. He didn't need to do anything. But, Enjolras had promised he would help her the next time he saw her and this was his chance. He didn't need to but he wanted to do something.

Enjolras put the box down on the steps outside of the bar doors and raced back in the opposite direction. He stopped running when he saw them walking about 30 feet ahead still as innocent as ever. He slowed his pace down, following where they were walking. He hadn't exactly planned on what to say to them when he caught up to them but he decided he would just let fate take over.

The man led her to a crowd of people standing outside double doors. Enjolras recognized this place, it was a poker lounge and bar. Easily the couple scooted through the people and made their way inside.

Enjolras approached hastily about to enter when a rough man pushed him back. "Name?" he asked gruffly.

"En-Enjolras," he stammered trying to gaze through the doors to see where they went.

"Not on the list." The guy gave Enjolras a shove. "Have a good night."

Enjolras grimaced and thought about begging or explaining the situation trying to persuade him to let him go in. But it seemed the fates just didn't want Enjolras to see Eponine. He just huffed and turned around heading back to the bar.

...

Éponine's mind was whirling, could that really have been the bartender from that long ago? She had thought about him constantly, ever since she met him and he opened her up. She hadn't genuinely laughed like that in years and she had never forgotten that night. She always wished to go back to the bar but since Montparnasse had found out it was one of her spots, she wasn't safe there.

Montparnasse led her to a round booth in the back of the place. Brujon and Babet were already seated there on one side. He let her scoot in before he took a seat on the end.

Éponine just sat with her hands folded contentedly in her lap while her mind bombarded her with thoughts. She could vaguely hear the boys talking on about some things and she didn't even bother to register what they were talking about. Suddenly, she felt a tap on her arm causing her to jump slightly. "Show the boys the dress I bought you," Montparnasse said loudly over the music playing.

She hugged his suit jacket a little tighter around her, "I'd rather - "

"Give me the damn jacket, 'Ponine, I'm cold," he snapped, forcefully pulling his jacket from her shoulders. Éponine just sat there now on display as the boys grinned at her viciously. She wrapped her arms around her body hoping to cover herself up a little bit.

Montparnasse just chuckled at her as he folded his suit jacket and placed it on the seat next to him, not even putting it on.

"She's a quiet one, ain't she now?" Babet said as if she wasn't even there.

"Yeah, what's gotten into her? Ya used to half'ta smack 'er four times before she'd keep 'er mouth shut," Brujon added.

Montparnasse just smirked, "I like her quiet now, anyway." His arm snaked around her waist pulling her to him, "Hardly any trouble anymore and she does what I say." He bent his head down to look at her, "Ain't that right?"

She just nodded rapidly, still looking at her folded hands.

In the next moment, a tall, slender woman with fire red hair approached the table. "Hi, I'm Musichetta. What can I get you guys?"

Montparnasse stared at her mischievously, letting go of Éponine's waist in the process. "I'll have anything, as long as you're serving it."

She chuckled slightly noticing the gold band on his finger. Her chuckle soon turned into a dirty smirk, "Seriously. What can I get you to drink?" she responded flatly as she held her pad of paper up in her hand and kept the other hand positioned to write.

"Gin and Tonic," Brujon stated before Montparnasse had a chance to say anything else.

"Jack Daniels," Babet added shortly after.

Montparnasse just smirked to her, "Scotch Tom Collins." He paused, "On the rocks...I like it a little rough."

Musichetta just ignored him and fixed her eyes on Éponine, "And what can I get you, honey?"

Éponine looked up quickly, realizing the woman was talking to her. She waved her hand, "No, I'm fine - "

"Nonsense," Montparnasse interjected, "Get 'er a...Sex on the Beach," he said with a seductive undertone.

Musichetta looked a little skeptical but Éponine nodded to her defeatedly, "...and a water," she added quietly.

"Coming right up," Musichetta smiled and turned on her heel.

Montparnasse's arm found her waist again. "'Ponine, what's wrong? Don't you want to have a little fun?"

She just sat there, not knowing how to respond or what to say. In all honesty, Éponine couldn't focus on much else except Enjolras' face flashing through her mind. She just smiled to Montparnasse faintly before it disappeared like lightning.

"I know what you need. A good hit." Her eyes doubled as she shrunk back a little bit. "Don't be silly," he said coldly. "I'm not talking about that hit." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a blunt. "Light it," he demanded to Brujon who willingly obliged. Montparnasse held the lit blunt in front of Éponine's face. "Go on," he prompted. She stared at it in front of her, there was nothing much else she could do. All eyes were watching her now and so she decided to take it before it ended with a real hit to her cheek. "There," he breathed as he pulled it out of her mouth, "Don't you feel better already?"

She just nodded, knowing that was the only acceptable answer.

After a few more hits and the drinks Montparnasse practically forced down her throat, Éponine was beginning to forget ever seeing Enjolras' face in the first place. Her mood lifted dramatically as she laughed and joked with the boys at the table. She wasn't in her right mind to even notice or care much about Montparnasse's flirting with other women who would walk by.

Finally, late into the night, Musichetta returned with another round of drinks that she placed on the table. A slightly drunk Montparnasse smirked to her as she turned away, "Thanks, babe," he quipped as he reached out to tap her butt, giving it a little squeeze in the process.

Éponine's eyes widened as she watched this. Her heart was hammering in her chest and even as high as she was now, she knew that was crossing the line.

But Musichetta was furious. Her eyes darkened as she spun around, pointing a stern finger at Montparnasse. "Don't you ever grab my ass again! You hear me?" she yelled at him. "You're a married man, for God's sake!" She turned in a huff and stomped away.

Éponine stood up in her seat. "Let me out." She motioned to Montparnasse to move out of the booth to let her out.

"C'mon baby, don't be like this." He cooed grabbing at her hands which she kept pulling out of his grasp. "You know I was only kidding."

"I'm not mad," Éponine stated coolly. "I have to pee."

Montparnasse would be lying if he said he wasn't stunned, but he smiled to her calmly. He stood up from his seat as she scooted by, not even glancing at him. He grabbed her arm quickly bringing her close to him and placed a quick kiss on her cheek. "Thank you," he whispered lightly.

Éponine just whipped herself out of his grasp and walked away. On her way to the bathroom passing the bar counter, Musichetta caught her walking, "Hey, honey! Please come here!" she shouted but Eponine just waved her arm to her as if she was swatting her away. She didn't mean to be so cold but she could feel the hint of tears welling up in her eyes.

She just raced into the bathroom as fast as she could. She burst open a stall door falling to her knees and her head bent over the toilet. The next thing she knew, she was throwing up in it.

When she was finished, she just sat there with her head in her knees. She didn't care that the floor was dirty, or that the toilet probably had more germs on it than a locker room, she just wanted to sit there with her thoughts. This wasn't the first time Montparnasse blatantly flirted with other girls in front of her, but he had never gotten physical with them before. This mixed with the fact she saw that bartender again brought up all sorts of strange feelings.

But to be honest, throwing up did clear her head. _Come back to the bar_, that voice purred in the back of her mind. Suddenly her head snapped up and her eyes opened. That's what she needed to do.

Quickly, she was on her feet. She didn't bother going back to Montparnasse or telling him where she was going. She knew she would pay for it later, but she just needed to go see the bartender again. So, Éponine maneuvered her way through the crowds and made it out of the place unseen by Montparnasse.

...

It was almost time to close up the bar. It was nearing 2 am now and most of the patrons had left. Enjolras stood wiping up the tables when across the bar, the doors flew open.

A woman shuffled into the bar and nearly collapsed on the counter. Her head fell into her arms and she just sat there catching her breath for a bit.

Courfeyrac tapped Enjolras' arm with his elbow, "Who's the hooker?"

Enjolras eyes visibly doubled as his eyes landed on the girl. He immediately raced over to the counter, his hand falling to her shoulder. "Éponine?" he asked worriedly.

She looked up at him with hazed eyes and smiled, "I came."

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**A/N: Well...is it worth it? ...In any case, thanks for taking the time to read! I always appreciate that!**


	3. Of Breaking Rules

**A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reviews! I will comment back to you if you leave me one just to make sure I thank you personally. So here is the next installment. I will definitely be continuing this story! Really hope you enjoy! R&amp;R Please!**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 3 - Of Breaking Rules

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She waited with bated breath for him to say something, but his silence had her doubting her actions. Éponine started to think she may have been too forward, suddenly showing up and expecting him to open his arms for her. She didn't even know a thing about this bartender except for the fact that he had invited her to come back.

Without glancing his face away from hers, he yelled, "Courfeyrac! Get me a glass of water for her." Enjolras shifted himself so he now sat in the barstool next to her. "Yes, Éponine, you came. I didn't think you were going to."

The curly dark haired bartender approached from behind the counter and handed her the glass. She took it with shaking hands and slowly brought it to her lips. The cool water felt blissful as it washed over her burning throat.

Finally, now having a voice to speak, she answered him, "I wanted to come back...I've wanted to for so long."

The words felt like something out of a dream for Enjolras. Had she really been thinking about him for so long as well? He removed his hand from her back and bent a little closer to her. "Then why haven't you?"

Éponine's face suddenly paled. Her eyes frantically darted between Enjolras and the bartender who must've been Courfeyrac. "I should go," she stated abruptly.

She slipped herself from the barstool but Enjolras grabbed her arm. Éponine flinched away out of instinct. This move didn't go unnoticed by Enjolras and he gently released his grip. "Please, just sit for a moment."

Her hands started trembling slightly at her sides. She bit her lip, "He's probably looking for me. I should go back to him."

"At least let me walk you back then. It's not safe out this late at night." Éponine's heart nearly leaped from her chest. This man, who was barely more than a simple stranger to her, was offering to walk her back for her own protection. It was such a kind gesture, such a small one, but it felt like the world to her.

"Okay," was all she could manage to say.

Enjolras looked over at Courfeyrac. "Courf, could you finish closing up without me?"

He simply nodded, "Yeah, I've got it. Don't worry about it."

"Thanks. Hand me my jacket?"

Courfeyrac walked down a few feet along the bar counter, reached under, and produced a brown leather jacket. He tossed it back to Enjolras as he walked back over. "It was nice to meet you...?"

"Éponine," she said quietly.

"Well, nice to meet you Éponine," he smiled pleasantly at her.

Enjolras led Éponine out through the doors of the bar and walked silently with her down the sidewalk. She led the way as she headed back to the lounge. Enjolras followed along remembering that he wasn't supposed to know that's where they were headed.

As they walked, he didn't know if he should initiate the conversation or even what to say to her if he did. So he figured he'd wait for her to speak up. Enjolras was still kicking himself now for letting himself walk her back to her husband. Anyone in their right mind would never allow her to go back to him, but here Enjolras was doing her the honor of _bringing_ her back.

After a few moments, he noticed a slight shiver from her. "Here," he said holding out his jacket which he hadn't even put on.

"Oh no," she insisted, waving her hand at it. "I don't need it."

"You're cold, and you don't have a jacket," he insisted. She grimaced at him but he only responded by placing his jacket around her shoulders.

"Thank you...Enjolras, right?," she said meekly.

"Right. And, it's not a problem." The conversation fell quiet again as they walked gracefully side-by-side.

"You told me...earlier today, to come back...when I bumped into you," she stuttered inarticulately, breaking the silence between them.

"Right. I missed seeing you." He glowered as soon as the words left his mouth. _What a stupid thing to say! _he thought, _I've only seen her once and now I'm telling her I miss seeing her?_

Éponine smiled slightly. "I didn't think anyone like you would even remember someone like me."

Enjolras was a little taken aback. If only she knew the truth. "Well, it's not everyday that you meet someone who starts singing _Oliver!_ with you," he smirked.

She laughed a little at the memory. That day was one of the first few times she really felt like herself. She laughed and she joked naturally and even sang the lines from her favorite musical. That day was permanently etched in her brain. She had felt so safe there, and she even felt safe now walking with Enjolras. There was something just so warm and inviting about him, she just wanted to hold onto him forever. "And it's not everyday someone gives you a free beer," she responded, trying to lighten the mood.

Enjolras heart ached a little as he recalled why he gave her the free beer in the first place. But he smiled with her, not wanting to spoil the moment with unwanted thoughts. "Well, anytime you want to come back, you're welcome - "

"'Ponine!" The loud voice came from the brusque man walking towards them at a fast pace. "Where the hell have you been?" he shouted down the block.

Her eyes quickly darted to Enjolras' as she silently pleaded to him for help. In response, he held out his hand to the man, "Sir, you must be her husband - "

The man had approached them now standing dangerously close to Éponine. "Why would you just leave like that? Without even telling me where you were going?" he interrogated harshly, ignoring Enjolras and his outstretched hand.

"Excuse me, Sir," Enjolras tried again. "She just needed some air. She looked a little ill so I gave her my jacket and we were walking back to meet you. _She_ insisted." Enjolras was telling half the truth, but he would blatantly lie if it meant calming this man's wrath.

"This is Montparnasse," she said quickly to Enjolras, consciously forgetting to introduce Enjolras' to Montparnasse. She didn't want her husband even knowing his name.

Montparnasse stood a little taller looking Enjolras in the eye finally. "Well, thank you for walking her back," he said trying to sound nice about it. His hands yanked the jacket off Éponine's shoulders and held it out like it was poison. "But you can take this back now." Enjolras took the jacket from his hands and watched as Montparnasse turned his head delicately to Éponine, "You can't just go running off like that, darling. I need to know where you're going."

"I'm sorry, I forgot to tell you. My head was just feeling so faint..." Her voice was so quiet and soft-spoken, Enjolras barely heard her. Her voice now contrasted greatly to what he remembered she sounded like that first night they met.

"We all make mistakes." Montparnasse said with a gentle smile as he wrapped his arm around her waist. He eyed Enjolras directly, narrowing them slightly. "Well, have a good night."

"Goodbye, Éponine," Enjolras said with the nod of his head as Montparnasse led her away for the second time that day. He was lucky that her husband didn't recognize him from earlier as he was sure that would've made everything awkward. But he currently hated himself for letting him take her away yet again. But what could he have done?

So, Enjolras retreated home. Now with every thought invaded by Éponine.

...

"Don't you ever do that again," he spit as he slammed the door to their home.

Éponine was still rubbing her cheek from the blow she received once they were in the safety of their car. He waited until they were alone so no one would hear the sound of the smack. She was thankful that that was all she received for her little stunt. Just one good slap to the cheek. She had certainly had worse before.

"I said I was sorry."

"I heard you," he snapped, "I just thought you _understood_ that I don't want you going anywhere without me, unless it's to work. And even then I wish you didn't have to." Montparnasse talked as he walked himself into the bedroom and started changing his clothes.

Éponine followed behind him, grabbing her pajamas as well. "I understand," she breathed as she removed the constricting dress from her body and replaced it with her loose fitting pajama shirt and pants.

Montparnasse now had on his pajama pants, foregoing his shirt, as he climbed into the bed. "Good." He held the covers extended in the air. "Now get over here."

She finished hanging up her dress in the closet and climbed onto bed where he was waiting for her. She snuggled up against his sculpted chest as he moved the blankets over them and finally relaxed. His hand began stroking her hair until she fell asleep in his arms.

...

The following day progressed as any other for Enjolras. He slept until nearly 11:00, ate his breakfast while pining over his book, and then finally started to get ready for his shift at the bar. But the only difference between this day and the last ninety was that Éponine had taken over his mind. He just hoped and prayed he didn't get her into more trouble by telling her to come back to the bar. But it was her decision to make and surely she would know the risks if she took it.

He contemplated his dilemma while he brushed his teeth and changed his clothes. He never had actually witnessed her husband, Montparnasse, commit an act of violence against her but the signs were obvious. Could he report it even if he had no definite proof, even if the only proof he had was her fear and his temper over little things? Then again, she was a married woman. What if he had everything wrong? What if she was living a normal life with a husband who just had a little anger management? Then he would be invading on their marriage? Wouldn't that make him a homewrecker?

Enjolras shook his head of all these thoughts and decided that the most he could do for her now was be a friend to her. Just at least let her know she had somewhere safe to go if she needed. The rest he would leave up to her.

The bar atmosphere was calm for a Monday night. Most people didn't even bother to get drinks on Mondays when they had work the following day, but somehow there was always enough people in the bar to keep them open and running on Mondays.

At 5:15, the doors opened and that familiar brown hair and those scared hazel eyes caught his attention. She gave Enjolras a brief smile when she noticed him staring at her. She immediately walked herself to the counter and sat before him.

"So, what do you recommend, hotshot?" she smirked.

"Hey, what are you doing here?" he couldn't help but ask. His tone was sweet and not at all judgmental.

"Can't a girl just get a drink after a long day at work?" she quipped.

Enjolras could only chuckle. She was acting just like the girl he had first met a year ago; not the timid one he met yesterday who looked like she was walking on eggshells trying not to break them. "I suppose so."

"So you never answered my question," she said as she folded her hands together under her chin.

He was truly captivated by her wide brown orbs, blinking at him with so much trust and curiosity. The only thing that kept him from drooling was that piece of gold shining in his eyes.

"Right...um...if you want beer, I'd say get a Guinness on tap, but if you want a mixed drink, I make a mean Alabama Slammer."

She rolled her eyes thinking her choices over, "Well I could use some Southern Comfort right about now."

"Then an Alabama Slammer it is." He turned away from her pulling out a fresh glass and beginning to mix the various contents together. She watched his hands move like they were dancing, delicately flipping the bottles and swirling the contents all before a gorgeous drink was presented in front of her.

"Why thank you." She brought the glass to her lips and took a sip of the sweet smelling drink, "It's delicious."

He stood in front of her while she drank and he had to tear his eyes away in embarrassment from staring at her for too long. Everything about her was just so beautiful. The way her hair fell and framed her face, accentuating her high cheek bones. The way her high peter-pan collared shirt hugged her slender form. The way her eyes were bright with excitement as if trying to hide something. He cleared his throat, "Right, thanks."

She took a look around the bar, averting her gaze from his. "Pretty empty."

Enjolras finally saw that he was the only one in the bar with her. "It is only 5:00 in the afternoon. It'll get a little busier later."

"I should hope so. Wouldn't want this place to close down."

"Me neither. I'd be out of a job then." She chuckled slightly as if he were joking. "So what do you do for work?" he asked, making innocent conversation.

"I'm a secretary for a lawyer. I just answer phones and see people to his office. Oh and sometimes I take notes in meetings. But nothing major," she said swirling the contents of her drink in her hand.

"Nice, you must meet a lot of interesting people then."

"Well...I don't really talk to anyone and they don't talk to me."

Enjolras frowned at that. "Oh."

Éponine perked herself back up as she placed her drink down on the counter. "So, what about you? I can't imagine bar tending was always your life long dream."

"Are you kidding?" he smirked, "Ever since I could talk, I used to tell my mom, 'I want to work in a bar.' It's every kid's dream job!" he joked.

"Seriously?" she laughed with him, not believing him for a moment.

"Well, I actually went to school in New York to be a lawyer. But I ended up moving back up here with my parents after I finished school."

"How come? I'd think after being in New York, you'd kill to get out of Boston."

"Cheaper to live, I guess. Plus all my friends are here and I just couldn't part with them permanently. So now I've got my own apartment and this _really awesome_ bar tending job," he added sarcastically.

She laughed along with him again, "What? No lawyers will higher you?"

"I'm working on it," he smirked. "No chance the firm you're working for needs someone?"

The simple banter between them just flowed so naturally and so endlessly, Éponine hadn't realized how late it had gotten. She paled as soon as she found out it was nearing 7:00. Éponine knew Montparnasse wouldn't be too happy but she hoped her lie would suffice for him. But for the first time, she didn't really mind breaking his rule. She relished on the fact that she had fun without him by her side and tried not to think too hard about the consequences.

She picked herself up in such a hast, she spilled her money on the counter and tripped over a barstool on her way out. "It's fine, I've got it, I've got it." She muttered as she stood to her feet ignoring the stares from other patrons. "Thank you so much, Enjolras," she yelled to him as she rushed out.

"Éponine?" he called as she opened the door. "You'll come back soon right?"

Now that the rule had already been broken once, what's to stop her from doing it again? She smiled showing the dimples in her cheeks, "I promise."


	4. Of Learning the Cycle

**A/N: Hey, thank you all for the lovely reviews and the follows and the favorites! I really hope you enjoy this next chapter. **

**Warnings: I graze over much of it, but there is a little smut. There is no detail of it so I didn't think it was necessary to raise this fic to M-rated. But if you feel I must, let me know. I don't want to offend anyone.**

**I hope you also, begin to understand the reality of domestic violence in this chapter. This is a heavy fic. It's a whirlwind of emotions and the lines begin to blur as to what is normal, the reasons for everything, and if you should leave. I've never personally experienced anything like this, so if something I have written is inaccurate, please let me know right away. The last thing I want to do is offend someone, or make anyone uncomfortable.**

**So, please enjoy, and leave me your thoughts! Thanks!**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 4 - Of Learning the Cycle

...

Éponine drove down the long driveway to their small house set back on a wide piece of property. The house was simple, it was probably no more than a cottage, but it had all the essentials plus the privacy Montparnasse wanted. In fact, he was the one that decided to buy this house specifically when they were first married. But Éponine didn't mind if he made the decision, this house was a mansion compared to what she grew up in.

But one day, a week after they moved in, Éponine asked Montparnasse why he chose a house set so far back on the property. "It takes like five minutes just to drive up the driveway," she complained to him.

Montparnasse had just smiled and replied, "That's because I didn't want to wake the neighbors when I made you scream."

Being so young and in love, this comment only turned her on and led to a blissful night where she did in fact scream until her lungs almost burst. And not one neighbor complained.

But now, the drive was just tiresome. She parked the car, already trembling about the temper he would be in when she walked through the door. She was home much later than she had intended, after all. With shaky hands, she put the key in the lock and walked in. All was quiet and she heard the sound of the TV shut off in the den. "'Parnasse? I'm home," she called out.

She walked into the following room to see him slumped across the couch with the remote in hand. "Where have you been?" His voice was stern and calm. But it always was before the storm.

"I had to stay late at work. They have this big case they're working on and I had to stay in the meeting and take notes." The lie just rolled from her lips so easily. "Sorry, I didn't expect to be this late." She walked past the couch heading toward the kitchen, not stopping to see his reaction. "I'll go make dinner."

"Actually, 'Ponine." Her feet stopped and she turned to face him at the sound of his voice, "I'm feeling a little...frisky right about now. Why don't you come over here and..." He waved his hand thinking of the right word to use, "...indulge me."

Éponine understood everything he was asking. She wondered what would happen if she refused right now. She really wasn't in the mood for anything like this tonight. Maybe she could deflect it? "It's late, I have to start dinner. I'll do it after."

He straightened himself immediately so he was sitting straight up on the couch. "I'm not hungry."

She turned around halfway about to head into the kitchen again. "I'll do it after I make dinner," she said again, more sternly this time.

Suddenly, Montparnasse was next to her gripping her arm. "Or you'll do it now and make dinner later." He didn't let her answer before he pulled her back across the room and threw her to her knees in front of the couch.

In the next moment, he sat down in front of her and began unzipping his jeans with a devilish grin. It wasn't long before he had his jeans and his boxers pulled down to his thighs, exposing himself and his hardness to her.

Éponine could only gulp as she stared into his eyes with an expression of worry. She did her best not to show it though, trying to keep her face blank.

But she obliged him.

Ultimately, she always would succumb to his demands. She never put up much of a fight like she used to, she knew she would never win the argument. Usually in the end though, he did what he did _for_ her. That's what he always told her. It's because he cares so much about her. Just as a parent scolds a child when they put their hand on a burner, Montparnasse only does what he does to protect Éponine.

And Éponine had always been grateful to him for that. She never had someone who loved her so much that they would set up these rules to protect her. Nobody ever cared about her. So she knew in her heart, _this_ was the least she could do to pay him back in the end. And usually when it was over, she had the added bonus of her pleasure, despite how rough he could be to get her there.

She opened her eyes to see his head falling back on the couch, his mouth in a large "O" shape. One of his hands, gripped her head keeping her glued right where he wanted. She didn't relent as she kept at it. Suddenly, his hips began bucking against her as he rode his high. When he finally came down and melted into the couch, Éponine peeled back away from him, swallowing and wiping her mouth with her sleeve. She began to stand up but his hand gripped her shoulder keeping her down.

"Where are you going?" he nearly demanded in a voice still laced with euphoria.

"To make dinner," she replied.

His eyes bounded open and he sat up straight. "We're not done here."

She shrugged his hand away from his shoulder and stood up under his scrutinizing gaze. "It's late. I'm hungry. And you said I could make dinner after."

Montparnasse's jaw clenched as she turned away from him again. He stood to his feet, pulling his pants back up swiftly so he could walk, albeit not fastening them. He stalked over to her and grabbed her arm before she could enter the kitchen. "Don't you walk away from me. I said we're not done here."

Éponine was turned abruptly around to face him as he held her wrists tightly in his hands. The hint of fear was evident in her eyes but she just narrowed them to hide it. "After dinner," she said deadly calm.

"Well I'm. Not. Hungry," he said through gritted teeth as he pulled her out of the doorway and shoved her to the ground. He watched her fall in a heap, her hair flying in all directions.

Montparnasse was about to get on his knees on the floor with her but stopped when she began to stand herself back up. "Well I am," she breathed calmly.

He was quick, grabbing her by her wrists again. His grip around her wrist was so tight, she cried out as she felt the bones pressing against each other. Instantly, he shoved her back down to the ground, colliding her head to the floor with a thud. The force of the collision had her hands gripping the back of her head. She immediately sat up, tucking her head in her knees while her hands caressed the bump.

Montparnasse was now on the floor on his knees next to her. He knew this routine all too well. It was a cycle. He'd overreact or scold her, she'd get upset, and he would make it up to her. Then it would repeat again another time. The anger had subsided in his heart now but his desire for her was still there. His hand reached out for her arm but she flinched away and scooted herself farther from him. "Go away," she hissed.

"'Ponine, don't be like this," he said in a much softer voice as his hand reached for her arm again. She jerked away from the touch again. He sighed as he scooted himself closer to her. She was right up against the wall now so there was not much room for her to go anywhere.

Montparnasse was used to this type of reaction from her. She would just close herself up, shutting him out completely. Then, he would try to coax her out of her shell, bring down her walls, and let her fall into him. In the end, he would always get what he wanted, he always knew how to get to her and she would always willingly give it.

She mumbled something into her knees that he didn't quite catch. But he didn't really care what she said anyway. He brought himself so close to her balled form, without actually touching her, and then placed his lips on her shoulder. Gently and slowly, he began kissing her through her shirt as he moved up to her neck. Her hands suddenly moved from her head to her knees, hugging herself tighter into a ball.

He tenderly moved her hair to the side, exposing her neck to his lips. He carefully sucked the spot below her ear. Soon, his hands were on her back, rubbing her shoulders in circles as his lips continued to caress her neck. She didn't shy away from him this time, but let him continue what he was doing. "I didn't mean to get mad, Éponine," he whispered in her ear. He pulled back a little bit and spoke at normal volume, "I was just stressed since you came back from work so late. I was worried and..." He trailed off as he placed another long set of kisses down her neck.

Éponine finally leaned into his touch and his arms wrapped around hers, hugging her balled form tightly. "We don't have to," he whispered sweetly as he rested his cheek on the top of her head. She still did not respond so he snuck his hand under her chin and gently brought her face up to his revealing her tear stained cheeks. His lips connected with hers tenderly but she didn't kiss him back. "We don't have to," he repeated into her lips.

At this, Éponine started moving her lips in time with his. She opened her eyes to look at him as she pulled back, "I'm sorry." in the end, she knew she had to apologize because to her, it was her fault. She realized now just how much she overreacted. He only wanted to love her and she just shut him out. Éponine felt terrible. She didn't give her best to him before and now he was telling her they didn't need to do it. If she didn't want to, he wouldn't do it. She couldn't have asked for a sweeter husband. Well, _this_ was the least she could do for him.

He smiled softly as he used his hand to stroke her cheek while his thumb wiped the remnants of tears under her eyes. "I accept your apology," he said before connecting his lips with hers again. Soon, her hands left their stationed position on her legs and wrapped around his neck, losing themselves in his hair.

Without removing their lips, Montparnasse swooped one hand under her knees and one around her back. He carefully picked her up and brought her over to the couch, gently placing her head on the armrest as he crawled on top of her.

"We don't have to," he stated one more time for emphasis. But his tone was not convincing. It was laced with a hidden agenda unbeknownst to Éponine. She didn't read into it, but instead believed his every word.

"I know," she whispered as she pulled his face back down to hers.

And for yet another time, Montparnasse got what he wanted.

...

Éponine awoke on the couch the next morning in the same position she remembered falling asleep in. Her head rested on the armrest and she stared down at the head of dark brown hair in front of her. She was completely bare except for the similarly naked man laying on top of her with his head on her chest. He had a loose blanket lying over him, sparing some dignity. Their limbs were entirely intertwined together with they're bodies flushed against one another.

She stirred a little bit finally feeling the ache in her limbs. Montparnasse was rougher than usual last night. He started out slow and gentle, caressing her and nipping slightly at her collar bone. But soon he was relentless, pounding into her, making her come twice and biting down on her shoulder when he came. Well he _did_ say he was stressed. Besides, she still felt bad about overreacting to him and shutting him out. The least she could do for him was take it.

The insides of her thighs held a dull ache and she knew it was going to be uncomfortable sitting all day. She peeled her arm from underneath his chest and gently began to pry herself from under him. It was then she noticed her wrist from where he grabbed her last night. It held a purple-brown hue of a hand print. Guess that also meant a long sweater for today.

As Éponine began to stir, Montparnasse awoke to the sudden movements. His head lifted up and he gazed at her. "Morning," he said wiping his sleep-ridden face with his hand. He carefully climbed off of her, wrapping the blanket around himself. "Last night was fun," he mused.

Éponine smiled slightly. "Yeah..." she agreed listlessly. She sat herself up and began picking up the strewn clothes.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he announced.

"You should. It's already seven," she told him glancing at the clock on the cable box.

"Damn, already?"

"Yeah, we slept in."

He smirked as he headed toward the bathroom, "Well, I needed it. You wear me out."

Éponine just sat there for a moment. _What's that supposed to mean? _She just ignored the comment and brought the clothes into the bedroom, grabbing her silk robe off the closet door. She could hear the shower running in the next room. If this was five years ago, she might've hopped in the shower right now and taken one with him. But currently, she knew better than to disturb him. He liked his space. And the bathroom held a hard tiled floor, tiled walls, and sharp corners on the sink counter. There was a lot to get hurt on if things got out of hand.

So Éponine took out her clothes for the day instead and walked to the kitchen to make breakfast. She was starving, having to forgo dinner last night.

"Mmm..." Montparnasse murmured as he walked into the kitchen dressed in his suit with his still wet hair. "What are you making?"

"Pancakes," she stated simply as flipped another one over in the pan. "Figured you'd be hungry.

"Oh, I'd love some, but I've got to leave in ten."

"No worries." She took the last pancake out of the pan and placed it on a plate. "I can make them again tomorrow." She just walked past him out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. Éponine was a little disappointed that he wasn't going to even stay for breakfast. But she should've figured he wouldn't want to anyway. Still, it just hurt that she was trying to keep the peace and he wouldn't even eat the god damn pancake.

She sat in front of her vanity, brushing her hair and applying her make-up. She took out her overused cover-up and liberally applied it to her wrist. Well, the purple wasn't _that_ noticeable now. She pulled her robe down her shoulder and saw the huge welt and the surrounding teeth marks from where he had bit her. Éponine could only sigh as she dabbed it over with her cover-up, as she did way too often. _Large sweater it is_. _Good thing it's getting colder out now._

And for some funny reason, the cold weather made her think of Enjolras. He had given her his jacket the other night when the air was chilly. It was so sweet. Éponine ached to see him again. Even if it was only for a little while. He just had this way of making her laugh and making her feel like she was worth something. But it wasn't very fair to Montparnasse if she wanted to spend time with someone else. He was very strict with her and friends. The friends she made needed to be approved by him and if he didn't like them, she had to stop talking to them. But he was just being cautious, trying to keep her away from people that could be trouble. At least, that's what he told her.

She read over the list of friends she had in her mind. There was...none. But then Enjolras' face flashed through her mind. He was a friend, right? But he was definitely one Montparnasse wouldn't approve of. First off, because he was male, and secondly because he was male. Éponine was not allowed to be friends with any men. "They might take advantage of you," Montparnasse's voice reminded her. So if she wanted to see him again, it would need to be in secret.

Well, last night "the case" at work ran late because of the meeting. And if "this case" was so big, she might have to work late again tonight. In fact, she might have to for the rest of the week. This was her chance to see Enjolras again! But one problem: she didn't have any money. She couldn't very well show up to the bar and not order a drink. Then her cover would be blown.

Montparnasse was strict with her when it came to the finances. "You are not allowed to handle the money. Women are irresponsible." So she wasn't allowed to have a credit card or a debit card. But he gave her allowances each week of twenty dollars. Or if it was an emergency and she really needed something for good reason, he would buy it for her or give her the money. To ensure she wouldn't spend money wastefully, he made sure she brought her lunch with her to work, avoiding her having to leave the office unnecessarily And her having to buy food. But she spent her weekly money on her drink yesterday...

"Éponine, do you think you could help?" Montparnasse interrupted her thoughts now standing across the bedroom. She hadn't even heard him come in.

"Sure," she said delicately as she noticed him struggling with his tie. She walked over and began smoothing out the fabric and twisting it together to form the knot. "...'Parnasse?" she hesitated.

"Mmm?"

"D-Do...um you think I could have twenty for lunch today?" He pulled back abruptly causing her to drop the knot.

"You don't need money for lunch. Besides, I gave you money Sunday," he snapped.

Her hands started trembling slightly as she grasped for the fabric again. He took a step toward her and she began working on the knot again as she spoke, "But...there is nothing for lunch. I didn't go to the grocery store this weekend...a-and I had to use the money for lunch yesterday."

He face fumed momentarily. "Why didn't you tell me you had to get lunch yesterday?" She stuttered slightly then remained silent. He grumbled to himself as his hand rubbed his temple. "Where are you going to go for lunch?"

"There is a little cafe around the corner. It's not far..." she said as she tightened the knot up to his throat.

He stepped away from her and reached into his inside suit jacket pocket. He pulled his wallet out and thumbed through the bills. "Only twenty," he stated as he handed her the crisp bill.

"Thank you...but um..."

"What?" he snapped again.

"W-what do I do for l-lunch tomorrow?" she murmured quietly looking anywhere else but his eyes.

He growled in frustration. "I'm late for work. We'll go to the store tonight." Quickly, he bypassed her and headed for the door. Éponine followed diligently after.

As he walked, he grabbed his things and got to the door. His hand was on the door knob ready to open the door. "I might be home late again tonight," she announced quickly. He stopped dead.

Montparnasse turned around fully to face her, "_What_?"

She winced under his harsh gaze. "The case...it's big and we're all working overtime. But I won't be home again as late as yesterday. Six the latest!" Éponine stuttered out as she lied.

"I thought we had you take this job because you were _only_ working nine to five. Not coming home late every night!" His eyes were blazed with fury and she flinched at his burning anger.

"It's only this week, 'Parnasse - "

"This _week_?!"

She sighed, "Everyone is just really trying to prove this guy innocent - "

"If they make you work late again after this week, I want you to quit."

"'Parnasse..."

"I'm serious." His face grew solemn and he turned to leave again. He opened the door halfway and then stopped. "What's this case even about?" he asked cautiously.

Éponine stood for a moment. Of course he would look it up. He would need to tie up all loose ends and make sure she wasn't lying - which she was. "This man is accused of murdering his maid."

"His maid?"

"Yeah, but he's a CEO of a Fortune 500 company. I'm not supposed to disclose any of the information. They're trying to keep the media out of it..." She shook her head, almost in disbelief at how well she could just lie. "...but, he didn't do it."

He nodded begrudgingly, "Alright."

He turned around to leave again, "Bye, 'Parnasse," she called quickly.

Montparnasse stopped with one foot out the door and turned to face her. He placed a quick kiss on her cheek, "I'll see you tonight," and he closed the door behind him.

Éponine let out a long breath and fell against the door. She slid down to the ground, sighing. She had managed to lie successfully. And she actually felt pretty good about it. She smirked to herself. Maybe her and Enjolras could actually be friends. God! How she wanted just _one_ friend.

Maybe this could work. Her face fell of its smile. She was going to need more lies.

...

Somehow Éponine managed to get to the bar like she planned on. After Montparnasse had left that morning, she fixed herself lunch and went to work by nine. And she left precisely by five as she did every day.

Walking through the bar doors, she was met by the friendly gaze of Enjolras. Every bit of panic she held vanished in that one glance. She couldn't help but be mesmerized by him. "Hey, nice to see you...I didn't expect to see you again so soon."

"Yeah, well..." she slid up into the bar stool, "...I like coming here."

He smiled his golden smile and she felt her insides heat up. "What can I get you then?"

And so it continued. Their friendly conversation never lulled and she just let herself enjoy the next hour in his presence. He would leave and take care of other customers and always wander his way back to her and continue their conversation.

"I'm serious!" he laughed inspecting her bracelet, "This looks like something from a movie! Didn't Scarlet Johansson have one just like it?"

Éponine wiped her hands over her face hiding her bright smile. "God! No!" she laughed along with him, "I got it from cheap thrift store."

"But it looks just like the one in that movie." His grin was beaming from ear to ear.

"Just give it back," she snickered, holding out her hand.

"Oh, you want it?" He held the bracelet high in the air, "You're gonna have to get it!"

Éponine reached up but he held it up higher. She stretched as far as she could sitting in the bar stool and leaning over the counter, but she was still out of reach. "Don't make me do this," she laughed. She stood up, standing on the foot rest below the bar.

He evaded her by taking a step backwards and pulling his arm to the side, laughing as she still couldn't reach it.

Éponine huffed and reached out for him. It was then he noticed her wrist. The sweater had fallen back to her forearm exposing the purple hue that looked remarkably like a hand print. His face fell and she stopped to see what he was staring at.

Immediately, she retracted her arm, pulling her sweater back into place harshly.

"Éponine..." he said gently as he placed her bracelet on the counter between them.

She looked away, standing to her feet and snatching the bracelet. "I've got to go."

"Éponine! Just wait."

Her eyes were looking anywhere except him as she stood waiting like he asked.

"What happened?" Éponine didn't respond and he didn't expect her to. He quickly grabbed a drink napkin and a pen and scribbled on it. "Here," he said, handing it to her. "Just in case, alright? Don't - Don't hesitate to call or stop by."

She took the napkin and glanced down at it to see he had given her his address and phone number. "I-I don't..." she stopped feeling the lump in her throat. She didn't want his pity. There was nothing wrong in her relationship, but she couldn't help that nagging feeling in the back of her mind reminding her of the physical pain she dealt with almost daily. "Thanks," she said sharply.

She turned to go again but his voice stopped her. "Will I see you tomorrow?"

Éponine just nodded silently and turned on her heel.

...

It wasn't long before they fell into this new cycle. Éponine went to work and then stopped by the bar to see Enjolras and then went home. After this week, her trips were more sporadic and short. And sometimes she would just ask for a soda instead of a drink. He never asked when he saw the well-covered bruise on her face one day but he knew - he didn't need to ask.

But neither complained about this new pattern. They both enjoyed their time together - no matter how brief - and always looked forward to their next meeting.


	5. Of Making Friends

**A/N: Here is a bit of a happy Enjonine chapter for you. These don't happen often so...enjoy!**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 5 - Of Making Friends

...

"So what lie did you tell him this time?"

Éponine jumped back a little at his abrupt comment, "Excuse me?" she said a little rudely.

"C'mon, Éponine," Enjolras sighed as he leaned on the bar counter. "You can't expect me to believe your husband is okay with you coming here all the time - _alone_. You've never once mentioned him in all the conversation we've had.

Éponine just sighed as she swirled her straw around in her drink. "Sometimes I tell him I'm working late, sometimes I leave work an hour early. Sometimes he's out with his friends so I sneak out of the house...but today...I told him I was at my sister's."

"You have a sister?" Enjolras asked a little disbelievingly.

Éponine hesitated a little, "Yes and no."

Enjolras scoffed as he furrowed his brow, "How can that be?"

"Well, we stopped speaking to each other a few years ago. There was this huge argument and we just never made up - "

"What was the argument about?"

Éponine gritted her teeth together and decided to ignore his question, "So I told him that we were working on patching things up and so far, he's believed it. He doesn't have any reason to call her anyway."

Enjolras was a little perturbed that she didn't answer his question, but he reasoned with himself that it must be a private matter that she didn't want to share. "Alright, I just don't want him to get upset..." he muttered under breath.

"Enjolras," His name sounded like heaven when it came from her lips. "I'm sure about this."

He smiled to her and nodded before a thought crossed his mind. "Hey did you see that _uh-mazing _goal Lucic made last night?" His face lit up while he continued, barely stopping to breathe. "Seriously, he was on a break away, flying down the ice, then Girardi - you know, from the Rangers - he comes by, tries to knock the puck away, he goes sliding, then Lucic whips around and top shelf, and the puck goes in!" His eyes finally land back to Éponine whose sitting there with a sad smile as she stares back at him.

She breaks eye contact and looks to her hands, "N-No, I didn't get to see the game."

Enjolras mentally slapped himself for being an idiot. Of course she wouldn't see that game! That's the reason she started coming to the bar in the first place! Her husband didn't like hockey and never let her watch it. "Oh... Éponine I'm sorry..." he said with sudden realization.

She perked herself back up seeing the pain flash through his eyes and placed a smile on her face. "So, the goal was pretty incredible then? You know Lucic is my favorite player!"

"Really?" he asked, playing along with her happy attitude. "I've always been a Krejci fan myself."

Éponine grinned, "Figures..."

"Hey, what's that supposed to mean?" he laughed.

That moment, the bar doors creaked open loudly with a exuberant shout of "Enjolras!" interrupting their conversation. Enjolras smiled broadly as he saw the young couple approach. The woman with fire red hair, dressed in skinny jeans and a red blouse, had her fingers laced with the man she was dragging behind her. He wore a more preppy outfit of jeans and a polo.

"Musichetta! Joly!" Courfeyrac cried from the other end of the bar. "Long time, no see!"

"Ah, Courfeyrac, it's so nice to see you too!" Joly said as he detached himself from Musichetta to talk to his friend.

Musichetta took the liberty to walk straight to Enjolras, reaching over the counter to give Enjolras a hug. Éponine couldn't help the bit of jealousy she felt crawl up her skin as she saw this woman embracing Enjolras. But then again, she shouldn't feel jealous, Enjolras had lots of other friends which probably included some women. _Relax, Éponine, she was even holding hands with the other man_, she told herself.

"Yes, Musichetta, how was your trip?" Enjolras asked casually.

"Simply amazing! We spent every day on the beach and when we weren't at the beach, you know we were in the hotel room," she said with a wink.

Enjolras just smirked and Éponine let out a small sigh of relief. Enjolras glanced down at Éponine to see her looking at his interchange with Musichetta. "Oh, Musichetta, this is my good friend, Éponine. Éponine, this is Musichetta."

"Hi," Éponine started, "It's nice to - "

Musichetta's eyes gleamed as she stared at Éponine. "Oh my goodness! Oh honey!" the girl yearned. Éponine was a little confused at what she meant by that but Musichetta continued, "You're the girl, the one from the other night at the lounge!"

Éponine suddenly remembered. This girl was the waitress, the one Montparnasse flirted with in front of her. Betrayal and anger flashed through her eyes for a moment, what did her husband see in this woman, that she, herself, didn't have?

"Oh, honey, please don't be mad at me," she entreated, noting the flashes of pain that shone through Éponine's eyes. "Please, you were there, you saw, I yelled at him the second it happened."

Éponine sighed quietly, she couldn't be mad. She really had no right to be. This girl, she did the right thing. Éponine didn't have cause to be angry with her. "No, please," she insisted, waving her hand to silence her. "I know, it's alright. He was just a little drunk..." She put a fake happy smile once again, "But it's in the past, right?"

Musichetta's eyes became ecstatic. "Oh yes! But I do hope you gave him a 'stern talking to' or at least didn't give him any for the night if you know what I mean," she said, grinning with a wink.

"Didn't give any who what?" Joly asked taking a seat beside Musichetta and placing his arm around her.

"You're just as confused as me," Enjolras added with a smirk. Éponine forgot he was even still standing there. "Joly this is my friend Éponine. Éponine, Joly."

"Hi," Éponine smiled to Joly as they shook hands.

"So, what happened?" Joly couldn't help but ask.

Musichetta spoke up first, "Me and Éponine we just speaking about the other night a week or two ago. It appears we have both met before...under..._peculiar_ circumstances."

Éponine chuckled by the way Musichetta had said what had happened.

"But dear," the red head continued, "I do hope you put him in his place. No man deserves to get away with something like that."

Enjolras gave Éponine a questioning look but she ignored him, not wanted to get into the situation. "Of course..." she trailed off. It was a blatant lie. She thought back to that night where she should've gotten mad at Montparnasse. She realized now that she did have every right to. He was flirting with another girl for God's sake! But at the end of the night, she was the one who received the slap. Where was the sense in that? But if she recalled, she was the one who wandered off, and that was its own separate punishment.

Enjolras hoped the girls would elaborate more, "I still don't - "

"Now, tell me Éponine," Musichetta cut him off, "How long have you two been married?" Her eyes shone with brightness and excitement. All of which had been extinguished from Éponine's eyes long ago.

"You're married?" Joly cut her off in astonishment.

Éponine looked down a little bit and then showed him her left hand with the gold band briefly. "Yeah...Five years."

"You're practically newlyweds! And you're so young!" Musichetta exclaimed.

"Yeah...I was 21 when I married him."

Musichetta's eyes drifted over to Joly and she placed a hand over his that rested on her shoulder. "You hear that, Joly. _She_ got married young..." Her eyes hid a bemused smirk.

"Well, when you and I were 21, we were still dating," Joly pointed out to her. "Besides, I don't think we should rush into marriage, we need to take our time and _enjoy_ dating."

"So you both are still dating, then?" Éponine asked innocently, directing the conversation away from her.

"We are," Joly confirmed, looking directly at Éponine, "But 'Chetta knows she has my heart. We'll be married one day, but I want to enjoy the honeymoon phase for as long as I can."

"Well, that's nice," Éponine concluded. She could only then think about her marriage. Her and Montparnasse rushed into marriage so quickly. They didn't have much of a dating period. But then again, they didn't need one, they were best friends since childhood.

"Aww, stop it," Musichetta playfully chided as her lips found Joly's cheek. He blushed a little in response to her playfulness but responded by just rubbing her arm with his hand. "So, Éponine, where is your husband now?" It seemed Musichetta wasn't done talking about Éponine.

Éponine paled a little as her eyes ran to Enjolras who stood by just listening to the conversation. She looked to him for comfort, hoping that in those blue pupils she might find the answer she was looking for. But he only responded with a sigh. "Work," she blurted out.

Even Enjolras raised a brow as she said it. "Really?" he couldn't help but ask a little disbelievingly. He knew it was a lie but he just was stunned at her answer, stunned that she would really use lying as a defense. He caught her scowl at him quickly and knew he needed to keep going. He cleared his throat, "What does he do?" he stammered.

"He's a Business Operations Manager for Apple." She was thankful that she didn't need to lie this time, it was the truth.

Everyone's jaw nearly dropped and then Musichetta had the nerve to speak up, "Wow. That's amazing."

Éponine actually smiled for a moment thinking about him. "It is. And he enjoys what he does too, which makes it all the more better."

Enjolras face fell back to stone as he gripped the counter. "And what does a job like that entail?"

Éponine could only flinch under his gaze, but she spoke dauntless. "Well, his job includes hiring people, negotiating contracts, addressing budget matters...he needs to know the general business operations and sometimes he even guides work teams for projects. He's usually very busy."

And awkward silence followed as she finished speaking until Joly let out a laugh. "Ha! And to think you could be doing stuff like that Enj, but instead, you're pouring drinks at a bar!"

Enjolras could only reach over and smack Joly across the back of the head, "Oh shut up," he chuckled, "_Mr_. Office-Clerk."

Éponine could feel herself crack a smile as well. "Hey, I don't have anything against office clerks. I'm practically one myself!" she laughed. "But bar tending..." She made eye contact with Enjolras and gave him a smirk, "that is definitely something a monkey could do."

Musichetta and Joly only laughed along with her but Enjolras' mouth fell ajar in mock shock. "I take offense to that!" he snapped. "If you think it's so easy Mrs. _Éponine, _I'd like to see you come back here and do it."

She stood up abruptly. "Well don't mind if I do," she retorted.

Joly and Musichetta exchanged a smirk as Joly whooped for her. "You show him girl."

"Now, now Éponine...I don't think - " Enjolras started but Courfeyrac interrupted, coming up from behind him.

"It's a slow night Enj, the boss won't mind," he winked, clasping a friendly hand on his shoulder. Enjolras had no idea Courfeyrac had even heard their entire conversation.

"See even Courf says she can!" Joly belted out. "Ha! I just want to see Éponine show you up!"

With a laugh, Éponine walked herself behind the bar with a broad smile on her face. She looked at Joly and Musichetta while Enjolras stood behind with his own disgruntled smirk. "So, what can I get you?" she beamed.

"How about a Rum and Coke?" Joly said.

"No no no, that's too easy for her," Enjolras cut in. "Something harder."

"Alright, alright." Joly thought for a moment then grinned, "Get me a...Lynchburg Lemonade."

Éponine's smile faltered but then she turned around staring at the endless bottles on the shelves.

"Need help?" Enjolras smirked.

She turned around giving him a scowl. "No," she said as she reached for the Jack Daniels Whiskey. She eyed the bottles a little longer then reached for the Triple Sec once she located it. "Now I just need the Sweet and Sour Mix..." she said more to herself.

"How about a glass?" Enjolras said snidely as he held one out to her.

She glared at him playfully, "I didn't forget that." She snatched the glass from him and stared pouring in the whiskey.

"Don't you want to measure it?" he quipped again.

She stopped abruptly, "I knew that." She glanced around until her eyes landed on the jigger. She flipped it over and poured in the whiskey and then dumped it into the glass. She then measured a half ounce of Triple Sec and then placed it in as well. After that, she glanced around for the next ingredient. She heard Enjolras clear his throat and flipped around to see him holding out the Sweet and Sour Mix. She snatched it from him and dumped it in. Then, the reached under the bar counter, pulled out a bottle of Sprite and filled up the rest of the glass. "Here you are, Joly!" she said as she presented the glass to him garnished with a lemon wedge.

"Good job," he said as he took a sip and Musichetta clapped her hands. "But..."

Éponine's smile fell slightly, "But what?"

"No ice," Enjolras confirmed as Joly nodded to him.

"Well - how was? Oh..." Éponine stuttered.

Enjolras just laughed as he placed a hand on her shoulder and a jolt of electricity shot through him, "Not bad for your first one. Now go sit down and I'll make you a drink."

"I don't have to pay for this, do I, Enj?" Joly joked, half serious. Enjolras just laughed and Éponine retreated back to her seat with the biggest smile on her face that she couldn't help. And it wasn't even fake.

"Musichetta? Could you be a dear and hand me some napkins?" Joly asked her as Éponine sat down. She could see the napkins on the other end of the bar and Musichetta sighed obnoxiously.

"Joly, don't you know how much my feet are killing me in these shoes? You have two perfectly good legs, go get them yourself," she snapped back.

Éponine sat taken aback. Musichetta was literally refusing to do what Joly asked her. She just flat out _refused_ him, and in public, no less! She was just waiting for Joly to hit her or yell at her and poor Musichetta would be utterly embarrassed. Éponine gripped Musichetta's arm with worry outlined clearly in her face.

Musichetta just gave Éponine a weird look back, noting her hand on her arm.

But Joly sighed and patted Musichetta on the back. "The things I do for you," he mused as he stood up from his seat to walk to the end of the bar.

Éponine released Musichetta's arm suddenly. She couldn't believe it. Joly literally was okay with the fact Musichetta refused him. And he even laughed about it! Éponine had never in her life met another man who was okay with that. She just stared disbelievingly at the events before her.

Joly walked back to the seat with napkins in hand and placed a kiss on Musichetta's cheek as he sat down. Éponine just stared on in shock at them.

"Éponine? You okay, sweetie?" Musichetta asked and Éponine finally realized she was still staring at them with her eyes wide.

She nodded her head quickly, "Yeah...all fine." She forced a smile to Musichetta as she smiled back.

Within an hour, Éponine got up, excusing herself to go home. She placed the small amount of money on the counter for Enjolras, saying goodnight as she did.

"Goodnight Éponine, I'll see you soon," Enjolras simpered to her.

"Yes, it was nice to meet you!" Joly called to her.

But before she took a step too far, Musichetta waved her down, "Oh Éponine before you go, I just have to say, I've been admiring your shirt all night, I love it! Where did you get it?"

Éponine looked down at her shirt quickly. It was rather simple, a dark green large scoop neck blouse that gathered at the front and was paired with a white tank underneath. She beamed, "You really like it? You know I picked it out myself!"

Musichetta gave her a little confused look as even Enjolras and Joly did. "Of course you would, who else would pick out your clothes? Now, where did you get it?" she said quickly.

It was Éponine's turn to now be the confused one. Montparnasse picked out all her clothes. They always had to be approved by him before he would buy them for her. But this was normal, didn't every husband pick out his wife's clothes? That's what he told her. "Just one of the boutiques in the mall, nothing fancy."

"Well, maybe we'll just have to go shopping together one day, you have excellent taste!"

Éponine smiled kindly thinking about shopping with Musichetta. "I would love that, thank you."

...

In fifteen minutes, Éponine arrived back at her house. Montparnasse's car was stationed outside and she knew he was already home.

Her mind was still reeling as she entered the house. Musichetta and Joly were such an odd couple. The way they talked and interacted, it was like they were the same person. Maybe they were just blinded by love and affections that they hadn't been brought back to reality yet. But yet, Musichetta...she was such an interesting woman. She had such confidence in her appearance, and she was strong too. It was obvious that it would take a lot to get to her. And she was so adamant that Éponine needed to put Montparnasse in his place for flirting with her all those nights ago. Maybe that was what she did to Joly when he flirted with other girls. But Éponine couldn't help thinking that she was wrong for letting Montparnasse get away with it? Should she really have said something to him about it?

She let her mind wander as she walked into the kitchen to see him peering into the refrigerator. "Hey, how was your sister's?" he asked.

Éponine suddenly remembered where she just "was." She smiled to him, "Oh yes, it was nice. A little awkward but that's expected."

"Sounds like you're getting somewhere with her though, that's good." He still hadn't turned around to look at her as he kept his head in the refrigerator.

Éponine quickly thought of more conversation while she had him talking. She might as well share her accomplishment. "And you know what else I did tonight?"

"Hmm?"

Éponine walked over to the table and placed her coat down on it, fishing in her pockets for her wristlet. "I got to make a mixed drink!"

He peeked his head to look at her, "Where?"

"The bar." Her face paled when the words just slipped out.

"The bar?" he asked as he closed the fridge door and made eye contact with her.

"Oh yes," she thought quickly, "'Zelma's got a bar in her house, she let me use it to make her a drink."

He relaxed a little as he turned to walk past her to the living room. "And what kind of drinks do _you_ know how to make," he scoffed.

Éponine frowned a little but followed him out of the kitchen. "Lots of drinks."

He sat on the couch grabbing the remote, "Sure...Listen 'Ponine, when was the last time you vacuumed? I feel like I'm walking on sand everywhere."

"Two days ago, I think."

"Well you need to vacuum again soon, I can't stand it."

Éponine breathed in deeply as she thought back to Musichetta. Joly had asked her a simple task but even she refused and Joly didn't seem to mind. So why should she have to be the one to vacuum, he has two perfectly good legs, can't he do it?

She took a deep breath preparing herself, "If you can't stand it so much, why don't _you_ vacuum?" His eyes slowly turned with his head away from the television to stare at her menacingly. But she wasn't deterred, "I do all the chores around here anyway. It wouldn't kill you if you actually picked up the vacuum." He stood up from the couch as she talked and walked closer to her. Still, Éponine continued starring daggers at him, "You have two perfectly - "

_SLAP!_ Her sentence was silenced by the slap to her cheek from his hand. His gaze was cold as her eyes dared to meet his again. "How dare you talk back to me," his deadly cold and calm voice answered. "The things I do for you, Éponine, and you have the _nerve_ to tell _me_ to vacuum? How dare you," he spit.

Éponine clutched her cheek but removed her hand quickly. "I just thought - "

"No!" he barked. "You don't think, your job is to listen to me. I am the man of the house and _you_ do as _I_ say. Understood?" Éponine looked away from him but didn't respond. He grew impatient with her silence, "Do you understand?!" he yelled as he raised his hand to strike her again.

"Yes!" she nearly screamed, flinching away from him and bringing her arms up to cover her head.

He gently placed his hand by his side again. "Good, now get out of here. Go to bed or something," he snapped, pointing to the bedroom.

Éponine ducked out of the room with her tail between her legs. But she stopped by the hallway as she was leaving the living room, "Goodnight 'Parnasse," she murmured quietly.

He only grunted in response as he turned his attention back to the television.

_It must just be Joly_, she thought, trying to comfort herself.


	6. Of Drunken Jealousy

**A/N: So sorry about the wait, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's not too happy but it's a catalyst for an amazing next chapter!**

**Thanks for every read, review, follow, and favorite! I seriously will never thank you all enough!**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 6 - Of Drunken Jealousy

...

So it was, the following morning Éponine did her best to avoid Montparnasse. They barely exchanged any conversation and she made sure she vacuumed the house before she left for work. After an argument, she would always do her best to appease him, but this time he just seemed colder than usual.

Come midday, she was excused early from work. Normally, she would've gone straight to the bar but she couldn't since it didn't open until two in the afternoon, and it was currently only twelve. She debated what to do in her head, but she figured the best option was to officially make up with Montparnasse.

Walking into the large stone building, she took the elevator to the seventh floor. She strolled to the desk in the front lobby and smiled. "Hi," she greeted the two clerks behind the desk.

The lady on the left perked her head up and smiled widely. "Oh Mrs. Moreaux! It's such a pleasure to see you."

The young man behind the desk clambered to his feet, gawking at Éponine. He could help but be lost in her eyes, her face, and her dimples. He was speechless when she actually made eye contact with him briefly.

"Do you happen to know if Montparnasse is in his office? I would just like to stop in and see him," Éponine asked either of them.

"Oh yes, he's just doing paperwork today," the lady smiled in her chirpy voice. Her head turned to the young man. "Mrs. Moreaux, this is Fredrick, he's Mr. Moreaux's new assistant. He can take you to your husband's office."

"Oh thank you," Éponine smiled.

Fredrick stumbled out from behind the desk, "Hi, uh..." he stammered, "yeah, just follow me." His eyes never left Éponine's until he suddenly realized he needed to tear his gaze away to lead her.

He cleared his throat, trying to get ahold of himself as Éponine followed diligently behind him.

"You're new?" she asked as they walked, making innocent conversation.

"Yes...only been here a few months." He was so nervous talking to her, he kept wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers as he walked.

"Hmm, 'Parnasse never told me he had a new assistant."

"Uh...well, Mr. Moreaux never told me he had such a pretty wife," he said quietly.

Éponine blushed slightly and turned her gaze to the floor while she walked. Fredrick stopped in front of a door with the name plate of "Montparnasse Moreaux" attached to it. He opened the door as Éponine stayed a step behind.

"Excuse me, Mr. Moreaux, your wife is here to see you." He stepped closer to the door frame to let Éponine past.

When Éponine entered, Montparnasse was staring at her seated behind his desk with a confused grin on his face. "Éponine, what are you doing here?" he asked in a sing-song voice.

Fredrick still stood in the doorway as Éponine talked. "My boss had to go home early today for a family emergency so I didn't need to stay. He sent me home..." she paused, "I was hoping maybe we could go to lunch if you're not too busy."

Montparnasse's smile faltered a little, "I have a lot to work to do..."

Éponine turned to walk out, "Oh, I figured...it's alright then."

Montparnasse stood up quickly as she turned to go, sighing, "Oh now, I've disappointed you." He thought for a moment, "Fredrick! Bring us a couple of menus from that Chinese place around the corner." He turned back to Éponine, "Fredrick can get us some food and we can eat it in my office, how does that sound?"

Éponine's smile returned to her face and she walked back to the center of the room. "Oh thank you!" she beamed excitedly. Her hands energetically began undoing the buttons on her white peacoat as she slipped it off her shoulders.

Fredrick still stood there gazing at Éponine. Without her coat on, he could now see her tiny body completely; the way it fit perfectly in her dark gray dress pants and blazer. Montparnasse caught his gaze and his eyes darkened. "Fredrick!" he snapped, scaring the boy. "Go on!" he barked, swatting his hands at him to leave.

Fredrick left in a hast, nearly slamming the door behind him. Éponine just looked nervously to Montparnasse as he leaned against his large ornate desk. She still stood in the center of the room and her eyes fell to the floor. She draped the coat over her arm and began fidgeting with her hands, not making eye contact with him.

"What is it, 'Ponine?" he asked a little tersely at seeing her fidget.

She met his eyes briefly, "A-Are you still m-mad at me? ...for talking back to you last night?"

Montparnasse let out a long tired sigh as he made his way around his desk again and sat in his chair. He patted his knee and beckoned her, "Come here, darling."

Éponine hesitated a little but did what he asked anyway. She placed her coat on the desk and took a seat on his lap as his hand gripped her waist. "I'm not mad anymore," he sighed. "Just, I thought you knew how I didn't like when you talked back to me." He patted her knee before rubbing it tenderly. "Éponine, we both have our place in this relationship and yours is not for you to tell me what to do." He finished explaining as his hand stroked her hair and her eyes met his kind ones, "You understand, mon chouchou?

Éponine nodded to him, smiling lightly at his nickname for her. She never quite knew what it meant, but it always sounded so sweet when he said it. "I am sorry...it's just I met - " she cut herself off quickly, noting her slip up.

"What? Who did you meet?" he interrogated, trying to keep his voice level.

"No, never mind, it doesn't matter."

His hand removed itself from her hair. "Who did you meet?" he repeated a little more harsher.

Éponine paled, somehow she always managed to make Montparnasse upset over the littlest things she did. Even if he was acting kind and gentle only a moment prior. Quickly, she thought on her feet as her mind concocted another lie. "At work, yesterday. This couple came in, they were dating. The boyfriend, Joly was his name. He asked his girlfriend Musichetta to get him something across the room and she just smiled and said, 'You have two perfectly good legs, go get it yourself.' And he did, he wasn't mad or anything, so I just thought...you know I didn't see the problem..." she trailed off.

"And you thought it would work on me?" he concluded with a heavy sigh. "Éponine this man, Joly, he doesn't sound like he has much of a backbone if he lets his girlfriend tell him what to do. Who do you think wears the pants in that relationship? Huh? You think it's good that she gets to tell him what to do? You just watch, in a short time, that relationship is going to fall apart. Woman need a man in their life to be their head. It's not the other way around. It's even in the bible, God said so himself. Remember? _The head of every woman..._" *

"..._is the man_." Éponine finished with a breath. She nodded along, listening intently to him.

"And _you_ now, you can't just go around copying what other people do. We've been together for five years, right? And things are working great between us. Why would you want to change that?"

"I don't," she murmured.

"Good, then stop worrying about what other couples do, and focus on us."

"Alright...I can do that."

"Perfect, mon chouchou." His hand cupped her cheek and his thumb stroked over her lips before she broke them into a smile.

"You know she invited me to go shopping! She said she loved my shirt, the one I picked out, 'Parnasse!"

Montparnasse cracked a smile as Éponine became excited talking about this. "I bet she loved it. But you know, if you're going to actually go shopping with her, I want to meet her first."

"Oh! Can we invite them over for dinner one night?!"

"Sure we can," he said as he brought her head closer to meet his lips.

The instant their lips touched, the door opened revealing Fredrick. "Oh, I'm so so sorry," he gaped, stuttering in surprise and embarrassment as they removed their lips from one another. "I should've knocked...uh I have those menus, let me know what you want and I'll place the order."

Montparnasse's eyes darkened as he watched Fredrick approach the desk to hand him the menus. The young man's cheeks were flushed from the embarrassment, and obviously from being in the presence of Éponine. Fredrick's hand trembled as Montparnasse reached around Éponine with his other hand to grab the menus from him. But Montparnasse then smirked, noting his assistant's infatuation. Expertly, he tightened his hand around Éponine's waist and traveled north, dangerously close to her breast. Fredrick gulped a little bit as his eyes followed Montparnasse's hand as he stroked right underneath her breast. Montparnasse placed the menus on the desk in front of the, and Éponine began to inspect them.

"W-Will that be all, sir?" Fredrick asked, feeling uncomfortable under Montparnasse's gaze.

"No, wait a moment until we decide what we want."

The silence fell as Éponine and Montparnasse read over the menu. Montparnasse flicked his eyes up to see Fredrick still watching Éponine as she was still perched on his own lap. His blood began boiling even more. But Montparnasse knew how to stake his claim and even rub it in. He nonchalantly spread his hand down Éponine's side, feeling every curve and groove until it traveled to her hip. Fredrick shifted uncomfortably as he watched Montparnasse feel her up. His eyes darted around the room quickly, but found their way back to Montparnasse and Éponine. But Montparnasse's hand continued down around her hip, rubbing along her thigh to her knee and back again.

Her eyes met her husband's momentarily in a slight confusion before turning her attention back to the menu and disregarding his actions. Montparnasse just smirked to her as his hand slipped between her thighs, parting them slightly. Slowly, as his eyes still looked at the menu, he rubbed along the inside of her thigh, coming dangerously close to her center with each movement.

He heard Fredrick shift from one leg to the other and looked up to see a bead of sweat roll down his freckled face. "Have you decided yet, darling?" he questioned finally breaking the tension in the room.

"Umm...yes, can you get me the #4 lunch special?" she said looking up at Fredrick.

He blushed as soon as she looked at him. "Of c-course...and for you sir?"

Montparnasse stood up, making Éponine stand up as well before she took a seat in his chair. He walked around the desk, collected the menus and started walking toward the door as Fredrick followed him. Montparnasse held the door open as Fredrick crossed over the threshold. The elder closed the door so only his head was sticking out as he handed the menus to his assistant. "I would like the #7 no broccoli, extra soy sauce, and make sure there is an egg roll," he demanded, smiling mischievously.

"Right away, sir." The assistant turned away from Montparnasse.

"Oh and Fredrick," Montparnasse's smile fell into a scowl as his assistant stopped in his tracks. "She's mine, so keep your eyes to yourself," he deadpanned.

Fredrick's face reddened like a tomato before he nodded rapidly and Montparnasse slammed the door in his face.

He turned back to Éponine and smirked, "Now, where were we?"

...

When the day was over, Éponine found herself back at home. She was in such a good mood after a wonderful day. It seemed nothing could go amiss. After her lunch with Montparnasse and an extremely physical make-out session, Éponine found herself at the bar to spend the rest of the afternoon with Enjolras.

There, she talked and laughed blissfully, singing songs with him to the radio playing and even enjoying her Shirley Temple with a shot of vodka he made special for her.

She hummed while she walked about the house, cleaning up and starting dinner. It was late and Montparnasse informed her about the amount of work he had, especially since her visit had provided a bit of a distraction for him.

So she waited for him. When dinner was ready, she kept it warming on the stove and waited. Another hour passed and it was now nearing 8:30. She was starving so she helped herself to the dinner, leaving some for him. She hated eating without him, but she figured one night would be alright. By 9:00, Éponine decided to call him. There was no answer and so she waited some more.

She eventually packed up the rest of the dinner and figured he'd eat it for lunch tomorrow. By 10:30 now, she was getting worried. He didn't answer his phone again as she called and she left him two messages prior.

It wasn't until 45 minutes later that Montparnasse stumbled through the door.

"'Parnasse!" Éponine exclaimed, running over to him and wrapping her arms around him. It was then, she smelled the alcohol radiating off of him. He tripped as he tried to walk but she held firmly to him, leading him to the couch to sit him down. "'Parnasse, are you drunk? Do you know what time it is? I've been worried sick!"

"Hush...'Ponine. Nuthin's wrong..." his voice slurred as his head lolled to the side.

"You could've told me you were going out drinking..." Éponine rested his head back on the cushions, moving pieces of curly hair out of his face. "We had such a good day, 'Parnasse, why did you have to go and ruin it?" she murmured quietly to his drunken form.

His eyes opened and fixated on her lips while she spoke. It wasn't long before his hand found its way to the back of her neck, pulling her into him. He landed a sloppy kiss on her lips as she pulled away abruptly.

"Stop that! I won't kiss you if you're drunk."

His hand only gripped tighter around the back of her neck as he pulled her into him again. "Shut it..." he garbled.

She began pushing against him. "No, 'Parnasse!" Luckily, he didn't put up much of a fight as she managed to remove his hand from her neck. She reached her hand out to stroke his face as he relaxed on the cushions. "Why would you do this? What was so wrong you needed to get drunk?" she whispered to him.

His eyes sobered and met hers darkly. "Fredrick." It was the only word he could manage to say as the alcohol clouded his thoughts.

"Your assistant?" Éponine looked around at him confused. "What does he have to do with any of this?"

Montparnasse moaned into the cushions. "...no...his eyes..." and his voice trailed off into other unintelligible words.

"You're not making any sense." Éponine shook him slightly to open his eyes again. Suddenly, something else dawned on her. "'Parnasse? Did you drive home?"

He mumbled incoherently and nodded.

Her mouth hung open as she pushed against him. "'Parnasse! Are you insane!? How dare you drive home drunk!" she scolded in a caring yet stern tone. "You could've killed someone, or yourself!" Montparnasse just turned his attention to her breasts as his hands reached for her again, ignoring every word she was saying. She swatted his hands away but he grabbed her wrist as she did so. His hazed eyes pierced through her. "Let go, 'Parnasse!" she yelled, wriggling free from his grasp.

She pushed against him and his head fell back to the side of the couch. His eyes remained closed but his mouth parted slightly, "...'Ponine..."

Éponine soon became filled with concern rather than anger toward her husband. "'Parnasse! Look at me! ...I'm gonna get you some water." She quickly was on her feet pouring him a glass of cool water in the kitchen and bringing it back to him as he laid there melted into the couch. "Come now, sit up. Good," she said as he did so.

She held the glass to his lips but he turned his head away. "I don't want any..." he mumbled.

"Well, too bad, just drink," she commanded as she held the glass to his lips again.

"No!" he barked, making a bit of the water slosh out of the glass onto the couch.

"Oh 'Parnasse, just take a sip. Stop this!" Éponine held the glass to his lips a third time as her other hand reached around his neck to pick his head up off the back of the couch.

"I said NO!" he snapped, swatting his arm at the glass. He knocked it from her hand, both watching as it shattered in large chunks on the wood floor in front of them and spilling the water everywhere.

Éponine let out a strangled gasp at the noise. Quickly, she was bent in front of the couch, picking up the chunks of glass and placing them on the couch beside Montparnasse in an effort to clean up the shards.

His dark eyes watched her meticulously as she placed the largest chunk from the bottom of the glass onto the couch cushion. "...Here, 'Ponine..." he mumbled, patting his lap.

"Please..." she just whispered not looking at him, afraid that any other word might cause another outburst from him.

She did not move from her squatted position on the floor and this angered Montparnasse. He instantly grabbed her wrist as she placed another shard onto the couch. She gasped as he yanked her to his lap. In an instant, his drunken lips were against hers as his tongue hungrily attacked her.

Éponine struggled against him and finally pushed herself out of his grasp. "Not when you're drunk," she breathed, fixing her now lopsided shirt.

His eyes narrowed and Éponine knew that wasn't the answer he wanted. Immediately, he grabbed her wrists in each hand and threw her to the ground, watching her collide with the wood floor.

With the wind knocked out of her, standing to her feet was difficult. But as she tried to sit up, Montparnasse stood to his feet, looming over her. He reached beside him to the pile of glass shards and picked up the largest chunk. He held the piece high above his head, eyes set on her and Éponine could only shut her eyes in terror for what was to come.

She cried out as soon as she felt the sting on her cheek. Her hand clutched her cheek bone, trying to stop the burning sensation in vain. Her eyes opened to see Montparnasse with the same dead expression on his face. The way the moonlight hit his jaw, he looked like a stone-cold killer. Éponine felt a sob rack through her and it was only then she noticed she was crying.

He took a ominous step toward her, then another until he stood right above her. With a strangled yell, he pulled his foot back and collided it with her ribs. He took a step away from her as her hands found the tender spot he just kicked.

Montparnasse slowly backed away and wobbled across the room to the hallway. Éponine sat up, and gingerly got to her feet to watch him clutch the wall as he tried to travel to the bedroom. But in a moment, his feet stopped and he fell to the ground.

Éponine rushed to him and gently turned him onto his side. She sat for a moment in front of him, brushing his hair back from his eyes with her delicate hand. There was no doubt he finally had passed out.

"Why does this always have to happen, 'Parnasse?" Éponine sobbed quietly to him. She couldn't understand it. She had barely done anything wrong, except for refuse him. But she couldn't understand why that would cause him to become so angry. There was nothing wrong with not wanting to make love with someone when they're drunk, right? They wouldn't even remember it in the morning. But maybe she was in the wrong, once again. Maybe a good wife is supposed to do what her husband wants, whenever he wants it?

But why resort to kicking her? And why throw glass at her? _Because he is drunk_, she reminded herself. Oh, how she hated Montparnasse when he was drunk! It was like he was a different person when he was drunk, one that didn't mind how bad he hurt her. To him, a kick was equivalent to a kiss.

Éponine felt a tear trickle down her cheek, or was it a tear of blood that continued its way down her chin and down her neck, or maybe both? She rubbed his shoulder tenderly as her mouth involuntarily smiled in a sob. She picked his arm up and rested it on knee. Oh, how Éponine just wished to be held. Only so that the pain would go away. But how strange was it that she wanted to be held by the one person who was the cause of her pain.

Her mind was a whirlwind so much so that it was giving her a headache. She needed help right now, that much was clear. But she didn't want physical help, she needed someone to comfort her and let her know that come morning everything would be normal again. That Montparnasse would forget his outburst and she would forgive him and they could move on. She just needed someone, someone for times like these, for times just in case.

_Just in case._

Éponine wiped her face of tears - probably smearing blood along her cheek as well - with a new plan in mind.

She ran into the bedroom and opened the draw of her vanity. She dug to the back and pulled out the little piece of paper that held the address of that someone.

Putting a pillow under Montparnasse's head and a blanket over him, she grabbed only her keys and left the light of the house into the blackness of the night.

* * *

* 1 Corinthians 11:3


	7. Of Lies and Truths

**A/N: As always, thanks for taking the time to read, hope you really enjoy this chapter. The story begins to snowball from here...if it hasn't already, that is. **

**And thank you much for all the reviews, the favorites, and the follows. Seriously, y'all are the best!**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 7 - Of Lies and Truths

...

It was just another night for the group of friends. One that involved a little too much beer, an obnoxiously loud TV, chips that left crumbs along the coffee table and the couch, and there was always much laughter to be had.

Not all of Les Amis had shown up for beers at Enjolras' apartment tonight and for that he was grateful. The apartment was loud enough without all ten boys in it. Tonight there was only Grantaire who was passed out on the recliner, Combeferre and Joly taking up the couch and Courfeyrac balancing himself on the arm rest, while Enjolras parked himself on the floor.

The boys were gathered around the mid-size TV as the replay of the hockey game from just before had come on.

"See! See, this right here! This is why we lost tonight!" Courfeyrac announced pointing at the television with the neck of his beer. "We could'a had this game if it wasn't for this stupid goal!"

"Damn right!" Joly agreed.

"Well there's no changing what happened now. We'll kill 'em next game." Enjolras offered to keep the boys under control as he knocked back the rest of his beer.

Grantaire mumbled in his sleep before sitting up suddenly, "Don't any of you hear that? I'm trying to sleep!"

The boys looked at him suspiciously, suppressing their chuckles. "R, I think it's time for you to go home," Combeferre said, rising to his feet.

Grantaire didn't smile though. "The knocking! Someone make it stop!" he groaned placing a pillow over his head.

The boys finally looked around and as they reached relative quiet, they finally heard it. There was a faint knocking coming from the door. Enjolras, with his curiosity peaked, walked to the front door under the watch of everyone else who were just as curious.

"Maybe it's your mom!" Joly joked earning a round of laughs.

"Better not be," Enjolras chuckled.

But as he opened the door, the smile was wiped clean off his face as he beheld the sight in front of him. There stood Éponine, chilled to the bone and shivering with her hands clasped together clutching her car keys for dear life. Her eyes were red and puffy from tears that wouldn't cease. But her left cheek was smeared in dry blood with a deep cut that poured out new blood over the old.

Her hands shook as she spoke softly, "Enjo...l...ras?" she whispered with chattering teeth.

Enjolras gasped, still not fully taking in the sight of her like this. "Éponine!" His hand reached for her back to pull her into his apartment. "Oh God! Come in. Come in."

She took a step in only to be met by some familiar and unfamiliar eyes staring at her in awe. Her step faltered before she stood there frozen. "I shouldn't have come," she stated nervously.

As she turned to walk out, Enjolras stood between her and the door. "No, you need help."

Éponine shook her head as she reached for the handle, "No, I'm sorry...I'm sorry. It's late. I shouldn't have - I didn't mean to - You have guests - "

Enjolras placed a hand on her shoulder to silence her but he only ended up causing her to jump like a frightened deer. "I'm sorry," he immediately said, retracting his hand. "But please, let me just help you."

She could feel the tears welling up in her eyes again so she kept her eyes to the floor. She finally nodded sheepishly and in return, Enjolras wrapped his arm lightly around her shoulders and led her to the bathroom.

The boys each exchanged confused and freaked out glances before Courfeyrac finally broke the tension. "What the hell?!"

Enjolras shut the bathroom door quietly behind himself and Éponine. He sat her down on the toilet seat as she gazed about but kept her eyes from meeting his.

He immediately pulled out his first aid kit from under the sink along with gauze and Q-tips. Then, he grabbed a dry towel off the rack and draped it over her shoulders to warm her up slightly. The poor girl wasn't even wearing a jacket in this winter weather. When he set out all the supplies on the counter, and wet some gauze, he turned to her with a kind and sincere expression. "What happened, Éponine?" he asked softly.

Enjolras gently reached out and dabbed at the cut with the damp gauze. She only stared past him at the corner of the counter behind him, fidgeting with her fingers by flicking her thumb against her index finger over and over. She didn't answer him. She couldn't. There was no way she could tell him what really happened. If Enjolras knew, Montparnasse would be mad, Enjolras would surely judge her, her life would become even messier than it already was. Not to mention the embarrassment she would receive.

She took in a shallow breath as Enjolras dapped over a tender spot on the cut. He gazed into it, holding her face at an upright angle with his other hand. He turned her head slightly, inspecting the wound. "There's a piece of a glass in it," he stated.

Éponine pulled her head from his grasp and hunched her shoulders trying to become as small as possible, hoping she could just disappear. Enjolras looked away in frustration and when he looked back at her, he noticed her clutching her side. Her face looked as if she was trying hard to contain the amount of pain she was feeling by pressing on her ribcage.

"Éponine. Tell me what happened," he said a little harsher than he intended.

She winced at his words before taking in a ragged breath. "I fell," she whispered so meekly.

Enjolras pulled back from her and sighed heavily. She wasn't going to say it. He opened his eyes after his long breath to see her trembling once again. "My friend is a doctor. I'm gonna get him to see if he can take the glass out, okay?"

She only nodded as he left the room.

When Enjolras entered the living room, all eyes were on him. "Enjolras! What the hell is going on!" Courfeyrac interrogated in a hushed stern voice as he crossed the room to stand in front of the blonde.

"You remember Éponine, right? She got into some trouble and she just needs my help right now." Enjolras side stepped Courfeyrac and turned to Combeferre, "Can you come take a look at her, Ferre?"

"What kind of trouble, Enj?!"

"Sure," Combeferre said a little skeptically but followed Enjolras into the bathroom, both ignoring Courfeyrac and his qualms.

They entered the bathroom and Éponine's head snapped to them, bringing her out of her reverie.

"Éponine, this is my friend Combeferre. He's a doctor - "

"Well, I'm a pediatrician."

"Close enough," Enjolras said a little snidely.

Combeferre took a step forward and squatted in front of Éponine. "Nice to meet you, Éponine." He looked past her at the cut on her face. "What happened?"

Éponine took a deep breath. "I fell," she repeated.

Combeferre took some gauze to wipe at the fresh blood that seeped out. "Hmm...how did you fall?"

"I...uh...I'm just clumsy, you know. I fall a lot."

She saw Enjolras clench his fist out of the corner of her eye but quickly averted her gaze from him.

"So, how did you fall _this_ time?" Combeferre asked making eye contact with her.

Her mind started running rampant thinking of every possible story to use, one that could be believable giving that it would need to be a story that caused her to end up at Enjolras' doorstep. But the seconds droned on and the time to answer was slowly coming to a close. Her mind just couldn't think of anything. Her heart was beating so fast, she felt like it would burst.

Before she knew what was happening, her body hunched over and she let a sob escape her lips.

Combeferre exchanged a puzzled glance with Enjolras. The blonde leaned forward and squatted next to Combeferre in front of her. "You can tell us, Éponine."

"I can't..." she cried in a broken tone. "I just can't."

Enjolras rubbed her back tenderly as she breathed heavily, trying to compose herself. "Alright, alright..." His heart just burned. He knew the real reason, he could feel it. But he couldn't blame her from hiding it as much as he wanted to. He could really help her, but only if she actually told him.

Combeferre took the tweezers from the first aid kit. "Éponine, it's okay. But I need to get this piece of glass out. Could you tilt your head back for me?"

Éponine composed herself enough to listen to him. She closed her eyes as she felt the tweezers pinch her skin. She winced slightly at the pain but she held it together. A little pinch was nothing she couldn't deal with. "There we go," Combeferre announced.

Soon, she heard the sound of a bottle sloshing and opened her eyes to see Enjolras passing a damped gauze to Combeferre. "This is going to sting," he informed her.

She braced herself once again as she closed her eyes. The second the gauze made contact with her skin, her face contorted in pain, yet she made no sound. Over the years she learned how to hide her pain. When Montparnasse would drag out her punishments in the form of torture, he never liked when she would make any noise. He never liked hisses, winces, or gasps of pain and especially he hated tears. She learned fast what he did and didn't like. Even now, she felt that if she made any sound indicating her pain, she would be silenced by another hit. For even when Montparnasse was not around, she always felt like he had eyes watching her wherever she went.

In a moment, she felt the stinging gauze being replaced by a fresh one. And soon she felt the small strips of tape being placed over it to hold it in place.

"Good as new," Combeferre announced, rising to his feet.

Éponine touched the gauze with her fingers lightly. "Thank you," she replied meekly.

Combeferre gave Enjolras a look as he scrunched his shoulders, gesturing to her. Enjolras just shrugged in response giving a worried look to accompany it. Combeferre, then turned around to Éponine and smiled kindly.

"Hey, Éponine, do you think you could maybe lift up your shirt and just roll up your sleeves for me?"

Éponine gulped and hugged the towel tighter around herself. "...umm...w-why?"

"It's nothing bad, I promise," he said, noting the sudden fear and apprehension in her body language. "You said you fell, and I just want to make sure there aren't anymore cuts anywhere, okay?"

Éponine shook her head as the trembling took form in her lithe frame once again. "N-No, there a-are no more cuts." She stared at Combeferre's unwavering gaze before adding, "Okay?" a little sharply.

"Alright," Combeferre relented, taking a step backwards.

Enjolras sighed loudly, covering his mouth with his hand in frustration. "Combeferre, could you please give us a minute?"

"Sure Enj. And I'll send everyone home, okay?"

"Thank you, Ferre."

Éponine watched Combeferre sneak out of the bathroom with wide and worried eyes. She didn't mean for her presence here to send everyone home from their evening. She suddenly felt the guilt pooling inside of her. It seemed everywhere she went, everything she did was always a problem. But perhaps it wasn't what she did that was the problem, perhaps it was her.

And now, sitting here, as Enjolras harsh eyes gazed upon her, she felt like a kid in trouble. He locked the door as Combeferre left and took a deep breath in.

"Éponine." She winced as he said her name in the most solemn and ascetic tone she had ever heard come from him. "Neither of us are leaving here until you tell me what really happened."

She whispered, "I fell - "

"Dammit!" Enjolras fist pounded into the bathroom door making her jump. Her knuckles had turned white from how hard she was gripping her hands around the bath towel. Enjolras took a deep breath and spoke calmer. "You and I both know you didn't fall, so tell me the truth, Éponine."

Éponine wouldn't meet his gaze, she felt like at any moment the walls would close in. She knew it was only a matter of time, by how quiet she stayed and how the seconds ticked by, that Enjolras would hit her. It was coming, she could feel it. The temper was rising in him all because of her.

Well, it was now or never to tell the truth and she guessed that never ended with a hit. But would he be mad at her if she told him the truth? That was a definite possibility. Maybe she just wouldn't tell him everything then.

"Éponine," he whispered tersely.

She stayed silent for a comfortable second longer. "He was drunk," she said almost inaudibly. Her eyes stayed downcast, not wanting to see the emotions on Enjolras face. "He didn't know what he was doing."

"What did he do?"

Her lip trembled as her mind concocted a half-truth. "He cut me with a broken glass." She heard Enjolras shudder a breath and looked up to see him covering his mouth with his hand again. "He didn't mean to," she said abruptly. "I don't even think he was aiming at me...It's my fault. I'm the one who made him mad in the first place...I should know better than to provoke a drunk man..." she rambled.

"Did he hit you?"

Éponine shook her head. It was the truth, he only kicked her this time.

"Has it happened before?" He was finally getting somewhere with her, even if it wasn't far. Éponine stayed silent, this time though. "Éponine?" he asked again.

"N-No," she jumped abruptly. "T-This was the first time..." _that he has thrown glass at me. _She couldn't tell him that it's happened before, she couldn't tell him of the punishments she endures, it would only make him look down at her. But she deserves the punishments for her wrong-doings, she knows that, but Enjolras doesn't need to know.

Enjolras exhaled in length.

"I was just scared. I'm sorry to have bothered you." She looked away from him with tears brimming in her eyes as the thoughts hounded her mind. She tossed her head back, "God! I'm such a horrible person. I'm a horrible wife. I just left him...and came to another man's home! I'm so stupid, I'm so stupid..." The tears poured from her cheeks now as she sobbed. She wouldn't stop talking the more Enjolras tried to comfort her. "I such a bad person...I left him lying on the floor...God, I'm such an idiot...I-I just remembered you gave me your address...and I thought we were friends." She choked on the last word in between her sobs, worried that maybe the feeling was not mutual.

Enjolras bent to the ground in front on her, shushing her. "Of course we are, Éponine. You're not a bad person, alright? You were just scared. You're not a horrible wife either, okay? I promise you that." With both his hand resting on her shoulders, he pulled her into a strong hug. She sobbed onto his shoulder, partly out of the sincereness and caring he was showing to her and partly out of the pain she felt as he squeezed her bruises. "I just don't want to see you hurt," he whispered, "But listen, if this ever happens again, you can always come here, okay? Or call me, if you can't come."

She peeled away from him and wiped her soggy eyes, "I-I d-don't have a cell phone. 'Parnasse does though. But he says I don't need one."

Enjolras inwardly groaned and shook his head in sympathy, "You have a house phone though?" Éponine nodded. "Then use that one if you have to."

"Alright...I'm sorry for all the trouble I'm causing."

"It's no trouble at all." Enjolras stood to his feet. "Come, let me get you a glass of water - "

"No!" Éponine jumped. Enjolras stared at her startled. "I-I just don't want water..." she explained, roughly.

"...Then a cup of tea or something?" he asked as he unlocked the door and opened it. He beckoned her to follow him.

"Do you have coffee? I'm not a big fan of tea."

Enjolras smiled warmly to her. "A girl after my own heart," he joked. But Éponine didn't really laugh along with him. He cleared his throat, "I prefer coffee as well." He just let that conversation end and led her to couch before walking into the kitchen.

The boys had all cleared out of his apartment and he grabbed his phone to try to give a short explanation of the weird events to them through texts.

As Enjolras prepared the coffee pot and the mugs, he kept glancing at Éponine out of the corner of his eye as she sat on the couch not too far from him. She just sat their staring into emptiness. He felt awful about everything, even though it wasn't his fault. He glanced back at her again and this time he saw her lifting up the base of her shirt. What he saw, left his mouth agape.

Right on her side, underneath her ribcage was a large red welt with the beginnings of purple around the edges. He had no doubt that by tomorrow morning it would be a bruise. He clamped his jaw shut and turned away from the sight.

So she had lied to him. And this was precisely why she didn't want Combeferre to look under her shirt. It angered him that she would lie to him, but also that someone would hurt her like this. What else had she lied about then? He had a strange feeling that this wasn't the first time she had been hurt like this. But then it hit him, perhaps this was the first time though that she had a friend to confide in about it. His heart suddenly felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

But what should he do? Should he bring her to the police? Should he call a hotline or something? Should he keep her here and never let her go home? She came here for help but now she acted as though she didn't want it. But maybe she never really wanted help, maybe she just wanted to see her friend and find comfort.

That was it.

That was what she wanted.

He brought the steaming mugs over and handed one to her. Then, he pulled a blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her over the bath towel. Enjolras sat down beside her, waiting for his mind to make up what to say to her.

"If you want to change the channel, you can put on whatever..." he mumbled, gesturing to the remote on the table. _Idiot! That's what you decide to say?_

"It's alright, I like hockey, remember? I...uh...didn't catch tonight's game anyway."

"Right," he acknowledged grimly. He knew why she didn't get to see the hockey games. He took a sip of his coffee. "I hope it tastes okay."

She brought the mug down from her lips, "Oh yes." She paused as the silence invaded. "Thank you, Enjolras...for everything."

He held a hand up to her. "Please, it's the least I can do."

Éponine frowned feeling his pity drown her. She didn't want pity. She didn't need a friendship based on pity. "I should go," she said quickly.

Enjolras sat up alerted as she tried to stand up. "No please! Jus-just stay for a l-little longer?"

Éponine slowly sat back down and nestled into the couch again. "Just until the game is over," she whispered.

He wanted to tell her no, that she should stay the night, heck, she should stay here forever. But his mouth wouldn't say the words. This whole situation felt like a dream, he didn't want to believe what he saw or what she told him. He just wanted to pretend it wasn't real.

The minutes rolled by steadily and the replay of the game was nearing the end. Neither had spoken anymore, but both felt comfortable with only the noise of the game between them. The clock read 2:48am and with each passing second, Enjolras could feel the nerves weighing on him.

When the final buzzer sounded, Éponine reached over and shut off the television. She began removing the blankets and the towel from her as she stood up. "I can't thank you enough, Enjolras. But it's late and I should get home soon.

Enjolras fidgeted nervously as he stood to his feet as well. "Are you sure you don't want to just stay the night? You know it's not good to drive when you're drowsy."

"No, I should be getting home. I'll be alright though."

As she turned and headed for the door, Enjolras fumbled to cut her off. "Please Éponine, let me drive you home then, something?"

Éponine made a face, "I think that's a bad idea." She side-stepped him to the door.

"Éponine, I just don't feel comfortable with you going home!" he blurted out.

She stood shocked for a moment before she let out a sigh. "I'll be safe, I promise. Once he's sober, it will be okay. He won't do anything."

"I-I just don't think - "

"Enjolras, I promise." She took a deep breath, feeling the tears threaten to fall once again. "I'll be safe," she uttered in a strained whisper.

With a final goodbye, Enjolras watched her leave with a heavy heart. His mind attacked him telling him how stupid he was for letting her leave at the same time berating him for not wanting to let her go. He spent the rest of the night in agony, torturing himself because of the situation.

_I'll be safe._..What a lie! He knew she would never be safe as long as she was with that monster. And then, Enjolras decided, first thing come the light of day, he would find her and make sure she was safe.


	8. Of Happiness

**A/N: So thank you all once again. I hope you enjoy this chapter, though as per usual, it's a little sad...and painful. Let me know what you think! Thank you all so much!**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 8 - Of Happiness

...

When Éponine arrived back at her home at about 3:30am, she was nervously awaiting to open the front door and see Montparnasse waiting for her. She didn't even know how to explain where she was, she just hoped her brain wouldn't fail her when she needed it most.

But as she opened the door, the house was dark and quiet, just as she left it. She tiptoed in the hallway to see Montparnasse still passed out and lying on his side. After debating what to do next, she realized the best course of action was to let him stay sleeping there. She changed her clothes and curled up in bed alone, waiting for her thoughts to cease so she could finally sleep. She thanked whatever miraculous being there was who let Montparnasse stay asleep so she wouldn't need to lie to cover her tracks.

All too soon though, she was awoken by the sounds of cursing and the toilet flushing repeatedly. She stumbled out of bed, throwing on her bathrobe, and followed the noise to the bathroom. There she found her husband leaning over the toilet. His hands gripped the porcelain while his head hovered over the center. She quietly walked up behind Montparnasse, hugging the bathrobe tighter around herself, and began rubbing his back.

"It's okay," she whispered only to receive no reply from him. After a moment, she filled up a paper cup of tap water and handed it to him.

He sat back on his heels and took it from her. "Thanks," he gulped. Éponine smiled wearily, leaning against the door frame. Montparnasse clambered to his feet and walked past her but he stopped and looked down at her face. "How did you get that?" he asked with a slight nod of his head.

"You don't remember?" He shook his head. "Do you remember anything from last night?" she asked concerned. "You came home so drunk."

"Must've been stress," he muttered, taking a step into the hallway. "So what happened?"

"You hit me with a broken glass," she murmured, following him.

"Oh," he replied, plopping himself on the couch. "What did you do?"

"Me?"

"Yes, you, 'Ponine. I wouldn't have gotten mad at you for no reason, so what did you do?" he snapped back.

Éponine cast her gaze downward before taking a seat beside him on the couch, where they had both been siting only hours before. "I wouldn't have sex with you."

Montparnasse scoffed tiredly.

"Aren't you g-going to apologize?" she asked courageously in her usual meek tone.

His eyes peeled away from the black television and landed on her. "And why should_ I _apologize?"

"...c-cause you h-hurt me," she whimpered.

Montparnasse let out a long breath and melted into the couch as his eyes closed. "Well, obviously, you did something wrong and I punished you for it. I have no need to apologize."

"But I only didn't want to have sex because you were drunk. I didn't _do_ anything..."

"I'm not going to apologize!" he flared. Éponine shrunk back away from him. He took in a long calming breath. But the breath couldn't hide the anger in his voice when he spoke. "What's gotten into you, 'Ponine? I feel like all we ever do now is fight! Why do you always have to make me so mad, dammit? Why can't you just say, 'Okay,' and be done with it, huh?"

Éponine lifted her legs onto the couch and hugged herself into a ball listening to his stinging words. The position hurt her ribs from the pressing bruises but she just hugged herself tighter and buried herself in her knees. She decided that now was not the best time to tell him how he also kicked her. She figured she'd let that one slide. Éponine sniveled, "I'm sorry, I'm not trying to make you mad." She sobbed into her knees. But then, she shuddered listening to the low growl that came from beside her.

"Stop crying, Éponine," he said bitterly.

She lifted her head from her knees and took in a shaky breath. She forced her eyes to stop making tears and commanded herself to stop shuddering. "Okay," she croaked.

She saw the briefest hint of a smile cross his lips and she relaxed as he did. "Come," he said, holding his arm out for her. Éponine willingly crawled closer to him and rested herself in his arm. His other hand graced across her cheek, wiping away any remnants of tears. She was thankful that he was careful to avoid touching the gauze over her cut. "We don't need anything else ruining that pretty little face, now do we?" he smiled. Éponine shook her head, hugging herself closer to Montparnasse.

She closed her eyes and could feel the last tear roll down her cheek. She couldn't help it because she was just relieved that he was kind again.

His fingers stroked her arms tenderly, "You bandaged this up yourself?"

"Yes," she replied shortly in a somber tone.

"You did a nice job."

Éponine felt her heart soar at his compliment. Even though she knew it wasn't her handy work, she would take any compliment from him any day. He never willingly told her that she did something well and anytime he did, she knew he meant it. But to her, it just meant that his word was golden and she would need to work hard in order to hear those beautiful congratulatory words.

"Thank you." She paused, "Are you going to work today?"

"No, I think I'll stay home and go in tomorrow, when I'm feeling a bit better." Éponine nodded against his chest. "My head still hurts a lot. But you should be heading to work soon. It's almost eight."

Éponine glanced at the clock and seeing that he was right, she slowly peeled herself from his arms.

Rising to her feet, Montparnasse caught her wrist tenderly, "Are you happy, 'Ponine?"

The question caught her off-guard. Whatever did he mean by that? She stared down at him and smiled sweetly, everything now forgotten. "Of course I am," she responded sincerely.

"Good," he said, releasing her wrist, "I just want to make sure."

...

As the clock struck precisely mid-day and the church bells tolled, Éponine pulled out her brown paper bag of lunch from her bag. She placed it directly on the desk in front of her as the office door behind her opened.

"Well I'm off to lunch, Éponine." Her boss - Mr. Gallagher - said as he walked past her desk. He was an older gentleman, dressed nicely in a pristine suit accompanied with thin-rimmed spectacles. He couldn't have been more than forty but the early age lines from worry made him appear much older. "I'll be back at one."

"Not a problem," she replied plesantly.

Mr. Gallagher walked a few feet away but stopped, he turned around catching her attention, "I've been meaning to ask all morning, and forgive me if I sound rude, but what happened to your face?"

Éponine blushed slightly but luckily she had a story prepared now. "I fell last night. I tripped over the leg of the kitchen table and fell right against the corner of the counter. Sliced my whole cheek," she mused.

"Ouch, I see," he groused. "Must've hurt a lot. Hope it heals quickly." He turned to walk away again but stopped himself. "You know, Éponine, you don't have to stay here on your lunch break, you can go take a walk or something. Or you _are_ free to join me if you'd like to get lunch."

"I know, but I always bring my lunch and I'm just fine here. Thank you though."

Her boss sighed. "Alright, I'll see you in a bit then."

She knew Montparnasse never liked her to leave her job. He specifically told her that the only time she was allowed to leave was at the end of the day to go home. He said it prevented any cause for an emergency. Plus he'd be able to always reach her if she was by her office phone. And he told her he would know if she ever tried to leave, and those words scared her. "Bye," Éponine called but her boss was already out of sight.

She set about unwrapping her turkey sandwich from the tin foil and pulled out her carton of coconut water. The front door to the office opened but she didn't look up. "Mr. Gallagher is out to lunch right now but..." She peered her head up and saw the familiar blue eyes looking her way, "Enjolras! What are you doing here?"

Enjolras chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck and his feet guided him closer to Éponine's desk. "Hi, well, I wanted to see how you were doing...since last night and all."

She smiled sincerely, "I'm doing fine, my cheek doesn't hurt too bad this morning."

"Good. Don't forget to change the gauze though," he added.

"I won't." They let the silence fall for only a second. "But how did you know I worked here? I never told you what firm I worked at."

"Well..." He could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. "I...uh...well it took me all morning..."

Éponine's smile grew wider. "Did you go to every lawyer's office looking for me?"

Enjolras scoffed, "Don't be ridiculous, most I called first and asked."

She laughed, amused at him. "That's crazy..."

"Well, you don't have a cell phone, so it's not like I could call." He looked at the ground briefly, putting together his thoughts. "Hey, so, since it's lunch, do you maybe want to grab something to eat with me?"

Éponine looked down at her meal in front of her. "Well, I already have food...and it's not really a good idea for me to leave here."

"Oh, right..." he trailed off, not really sure how to respond to that. _Why can't she leave the office?_ he couldn't help but wonder.

"But you can always join me if you want? Just pull a chair over," she offered, thinking of a new solution so as not to chase him away.

Enjolras did just so and sat beside her at the desk while she picked up half of her sandwich and took a bite. "Tomorrow, we could get lunch, if you want to instead?"

Éponine made a bit of a face. "I bring my lunch everyday," she said sadly.

How odd? She really wouldn't go to lunch with him? Was it because her husband might catch her? Is it because she is married? But maybe Enjolras was wrong, maybe he shouldn't be asking a married woman to lunch. "And you just eat it here then...alone?"

"Yup," she said, taking another bite.

He let the silence invade for a bit. "So what do you do on your lunch break? I'm guessing you don't have Facebook or Instagram then?" She shook her head. "Not even a secret Twitter account? We all have one of those," he smirked. She shook her head again with a smile. "Then what do you do?"

Éponine reached into a drawer on her right side and pulled out a thick novel and plopped it on the desk in front of him.

"Jane Austen," he remarked rather proudly. "That's a good choice."

"So you've read her?"

"I have, long time ago. I read _Pride and Prejudice_ but never read _Emma_."

"Really?" she asked incredulously. "I finished _Pride and Prejudice_ not too long ago. Just started _Emma_..and I must say I like it."

"That's nice. Maybe I'll have to borrow it from you one day," he said with a smirk. His eyes glazed over her desk while she took a sip of her coconut water. But something caught his attention. His eyes landed on a framed photograph of what looked to be Éponine and her husband on their wedding day. She looked so happy in the photograph. She stood smiling with her dopy, dimpled grin in her white dress as her husband stood behind her with his arms wrapped around hers, leaning in to kiss her on the cheek. His face was not clearly shown, but one could tell he had on a large grin. Enjolras was beginning to wonder if he'd ever get to see her husband's face fully. He just had this strange desire to know exactly who this man was. Enjolras reached over to pick up the picture. "Is this you and your husband?" he asked dumbly.

Éponine smiled fondly and took the picture from his hand to inspect herself. "Yes, this was our wedding day." She stared down at the picture with a smile still evident, lost in a faraway thought for a moment. "I swear it was the happiest day in my life...and still is."

Enjolras watched her place the picture back on the desk. Her fingers lingered on the photograph longer than they should have. "You look beautiful," he said quickly. But it was the truth.

"Thank you. You know, the one thing I _really_ wanted at my wedding was a photographer. It was a silly thing, really. But I just wanted someone to take beautiful photos of us. Some we could always remember. And just for me, 'Parnasse made sure we got a photographer." Her eyes finally gazed up to meet Enjolras. She held this new beam of light in her eyes - maybe it was excitement - when she looked at him. "You know, the photographer loved our wedding pictures so much he used them on his business cards! And he even has this huge one of us hanging in his office."

"Wow, that's something." Suddenly, Enjolras had this urge to know more about Éponine's life with her husband. He figured now was the best time to ask the questions he'd been dying to get answers to. "So, I'm gathering you knew each other for awhile?"

Éponine's smile grew wider. "Yes, I'd say so. I met 'Parnasse when I was thirteen. We had just moved to Boston from Brookline. My dad didn't like living among all those snobs anymore when our Inn closed down, so he moved us to the city and we got a small little apartment. We never had a lot of money..." she trailed off. "But anyway, in the apartment building, on the floor below us lived Montparnasse with his friends."

"His friends? Where was his family?"

"Oh, well Montparnasse never knew his parents. He was a foster kid but when he was twelve, he ran away from the system - "

"Is that even legal?"

Éponine chuckled slightly. "I don't know, but he met some guys who took him in and they took care of him. Well, he was sixteen when he met me. My dad made friends with all of them and they'd come by our apartment a lot. And...umm..._w-we_...uh...all got along." Éponine hesitated over the last sentence. She figured there were a few details about her home situation she didn't need to share if she didn't want to. "Well, Montparnasse and I shared one year in high school together. We started hanging out a lot and he told me he wanted to do something great with his life, so we helped each other really. We got his - and my - grades up and he graduated that year with a 3.5 GPA. And then...he asked me to his senior prom."

"And what did your friends say?"

"Oh...I didn't really have any other friends beside him in school. Everyone just kinda left me alone when they saw me hanging out with him. I guess you could say he was kinda a 'bad-boy' type." Enjolras could only scoff at that comment. "You know," she continued, "I do remember having this crush. It was my next door neighbor. I'd see him often and sometimes we'd walk home from school together. I always thought he liked me back...that is until my senior prom. I thought he was going to ask me, but then...he asked some other girl. I was devastated...but - "

"Let me guess, Montparnasse took you to yours?"

Éponine grinned broadly. "He did. It was a magical night. He rented a tux and a driver and a hotel room..." she trailed, insinuating exactly what he thought. "He wanted to make the night special for me. And he did. He used all his money, too."

"Well, that was nice of him. Did he have a job at that time?"

"He had a part time job while he was taking classes at the community college. As I said, he really turned around when he met me. And well, I couldn't really even afford a community college, so after high school I started working. Then when I was twenty and he was twenty-three, he landed a full time job at Apple - the one he has now, though he's worked his way up to the position he has now. But anyway, that was when he proposed."

"So, how did he do it? Propose, I mean."

She beamed radiantly thinking about the memories that flooded through her mind. "It was really sweet. He asked me to take a drive with him one evening. And it wasn't to one of our usual spots, he drove really far...all the way to South Boston. He parked next to the water tower and told me to follow him. And I don't know if it was legal - probably not - but we didn't get caught," she chuckled. "We hopped the fence and climbed to the top. We sat on the edge with out feet dangling and we just talked for awhile, about anything and everything and then he talked about the future. And as the sun was setting, he pulled a ring from his pocket, a very simple white gold ring. The band twisted a bit on each side, making like a figure eight, and with one diamond right in the center. It was very simple and I knew it was all he could afford. But it was beautiful. It was all I could ever want. And he just said, 'Would you marry me, Éponine Thenárdier?' And I was speechless. I never thought anyone would ever want to marry me. And I guess I was taking to long to say anything so he said, 'I asked you up here, so you can't just go running away.' And I just hugged him and told him, 'Yes.'"

Enjolras smiled along with her. He couldn't help but smile; hers was just so contagious. "That's really nice. So how long did you wait for the wedding?"

"Well, we waited until I turned twenty-one...that way I could drink..._legally_. And neither of us had much money. He was just starting out his job and I was making a little more than minimum wage, and my parents," she scoffed, "they wouldn't help. But still, we made it work. We did the reception and the ceremony at the Boston Exchange Center, right by the water. We maybe had fifty people, at most, come. I swear, Enjolras...I swear I saw my parents smile that day. We were all just so happy. We did everything on a budget too. The cake came with the caterer which the Exchange Center provided. So we just booked a DJ and bought flowers and had an ordained minister come. It was all very simple."

She looked over that the frame picture again before continuing, "And I had the best dress in the world." She picked up the picture, admiring it once again. "You see it, here? I bought it online for only three hundred. And I paid for alterations; it was much cheaper that way. It was a simple satin A-line dress, with a sweetheart neckline. The front of it had these beautiful embellishments off to the side of it where the material gathered. And the back was a corset closure that laced up. And it had an attached train that bustled up in the back for the reception. Oh, Enjolras, it was beautiful."

"Well, from what I can see of the picture it looks beautiful. I bet you were stunning. Every eye must've been on you that day," he said genuinely. He couldn't help but imagine what Éponine must've been like on her wedding day.

She couldn't hide the blush that crept up her cheeks. "Thank you. It was truly a stunning dress, and it fit beautifully. Montparnasse even said he could barely keep his eyes off of me!" She closed her eyes in rumination thinking about her wedding with a smile across her lips. "It was my favorite day," she said looking at him again. "I don't think I've ever been quite that happy before...My whole family was together and even my sister wasn't mad at me. She actually put aside her anger and was my maid of honor." There Enjolras realized she wasn't going elaborate on her argument with her sister again as she kept rambling on. So he let it be. "I didn't have any other friends to be bridesmaids, so I think she felt bad for me in all honesty. But I didn't care. She looked magnificent in her navy blue gown. You know we chose blue as our colors because it matched the water. Though it didn't matter, we could've had brown for all I cared, all that mattered was that I was marrying Montparnasse, and I was happy. _We_ were all happy..."

Enjolras' smile faltered on his face for a moment. He lifted his eyes and looked right into hers. "So when did it start?" he asked hesitantly.

Éponine looked mortified at his comment. Any trace of happiness that was shown on her face moments before were now washed away. "What?" she asked incredulously.

"The drinking," he clarified, "When did it start?"

Her mouth hung slightly ajar. "My husband is _not_ an alcoholic."

It was Enjolras' turn to be taken aback. He hadn't expected her to fully agree with the notion, but he definitely did not expect her to flat out refuse it either. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, "I just assumed - last night and all..."

"No, Enjolras. I am very sorry if I led you to believe that may have been the case, and I'm sorry then that I asked your help - "

"No, Éponine, I didn't mean - "

She cut him off again. "Last night was the first time," she reiterated, "He was stressed from work. It was an accident and he - " The last word died on her lips. She took a deep breath as Enjolras waited for her to continue. "...h-he...he apologized for it," she lied. Éponine was beginning to regret ever telling Enjolras what really happened last night. Perhaps she was beginning to regret going to his apartment in the first place. All she wanted was comfort, she didn't need anyone judging her or making false accusations about her married life. Yet, she had to tell him something, he cornered her in the bathroom and practically forced the words from her. So she had to tell him, or else he would've hit her. Though in all, she couldn't change the past, but she could try to convince him that nothing was wrong.

"I didn't know it was an accident," he said lamely.

"Have you ever been drunk, Enjolras? Sometimes you just don't know what you're doing and you end up hurting to ones you love."

"But, Éponine, if it ever happens - "

"I believe my lunch break is over," she snapped, turning away from Enjolras and waking up her computer.

Enjolras glanced at the clock that read only fifteen minutes to one. He was positive she still had fifteen minutes, but he knew better than to push her. He slowly stood from his chair and moved it back to it's original spot. All the while, Éponine never gazed at him, she kept her eyes glued to the screen in front of her.

He stopped in front of her desk and cleared his throat, she never looked up. "Will I see you at the bar later?"

Éponine's fingers stopped typing for a moment. "I don't know..." she whispered indignantly.

Enjolras would be lying if he said that her answer didn't hurt. "Alright," was the only thing he could respond. "Bye Éponine," he said turning away from her to leave.

Éponine looked up from her computer as she watched him walk away. She didn't know why she said what she did next, she didn't want him to hurt anymore than she knew he was, yet the words still rolled off her lips. "And Enjolras." His attention turned to her as he stopped in the doorway. "Just so you know, I _am_ happily married."

In her mind, that was the truth.


	9. Of Losing Guilt

**A/N: So sorry for the wait, first off, hope it wasn't too bad. I was on vacation and just wasn't able to update since I didn't bring my computer.**

**Warnings: So, this chapter comes with some heavy warnings. There is not a lot of violence, but there is _heavy_ violence in this chapter. It's really sick stuff actually. And I really don't want you thinking ****poorly of me for writing it. Literally, I had a very hard time putting it all on paper, my heart just ached as I wrote it. But this chapter is necessary for the development of Montparnasse's character. **

**Please, I hope you don't judge me for this. And if heavy and sick violence will bother you, I advise you to skip this chapter and continue on the next one. I promise to add in some sweet moments amidst the angst, but the angst is pretty unavoidable when dealing with a domestic violence story.**

**Again, reader discretion is advised.**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 9 - Of Losing Guilt

...

With her feet tucked under her on the bed and the remote in her hand, the channels flicked endlessly until she finally gave up and settled on some home improvement show. Though as she stared at the television, Éponine's mind could not fully concentrate on what she was watching.

All she kept thinking about was Enjolras. She wondered if she offended him by not going to the bar as he asked her to. But she was still a little upset with him for assuming things about her marriage; things that were obviously not true. But as she mindlessly stared at the television and wondered about Enjolras, her thoughts were constantly being dragged to the room on the other side of the wall. The loud shouts and the repeated banging kept making it a little hard to concentrate. Montparnasse and his friends were in the kitchen playing poker just as they always did a few nights a month. Éponine, however, knew better than to bother them while they played their game, so she stayed in her bedroom, watching TV and just waiting for the night to finally end.

A loud crash followed by cackling laughter caused her to jump but she calmed down as soon as they did. She hugged herself a little tighter against her pillow and forced her mind to concentrate on the show in front of her.

Meanwhile in the kitchen, Montparnasse sat with Brujon, Babet and Claquesous around the small table with poker chips strewn about and cards lying haphazardly.

"You suck at this game," Brujon chuckled as he collected his chips from the center of the table.

Montparnasse only scowled back at him. "It's just a bad night," he snapped.

"If that's what you tell yourself to sleep at night..." Babet said, adding his two-sense.

"Let's go again," Montparnasse deadpanned.

Claquesous scoffed, "You lose again and yer outta money."

"I won't lose."

Claquesous shook his head with a smile. "Alright, then let's go..." His large and calloused hands scooped up the cards from the table and began distributing them.

"Hey, y'know I saw Thenárdier the other day," Brujon said as he looked over his hand of cards.

"...and?" Montparnasse asked while he mentally scowled at the cards in front of him.

"He asked how 'Ponine was doing. I just told him, 'Like I know?' The hell I look like? Her keeper or something? But I know he's itchin' to see her. Don't ask me why, but - "

"I'll make sure to tell her," Montparnasse sneered, cutting off his friend.

"Well, ya should invite him over. I dunno, have 'Ponine cook dinner or something." Montparnasse nodded, already bored with this conversation. Brujon grunted in the silence. "Also asked about that son o' his. Where is he now anyway?"

Montparnasse shrugged, "'Ponine knows. I think he's up north or something like that. Kid's got a new family now. 'Zel didn't want to take him, I think."

"And what? 'Ponine didn't want him either?" Babet asked.

Montparnasse's eyes glared up to him over his set of cards. "I hate children," he spit. "Besides, I think he's eighteen now, so the kid can do what he wants." He reached for the pile and exchanged two of his cards. He mentally cursed again seeing his new hand. "Look, we gonna do this round or not?"

The boys chuckled and soon the stakes began to rise. Montparnasse put his last few chips in the center. "Call," Claquesous prompted. They all displayed their cards followed by a fist pump from Brujon.

"I win!" he grinned. "I told you, you suck at this game 'Parnasse."

Montparnasse growled slamming his fists on the table. "Again! And this time I'm gonna win it all back."

"You got nothing left!" Babet shouted, "Game over for you."

Montparnasse glowered darting his eyes about the room. "My watch," he announced, beginning to take it off his wrist.

"I don't want your stupid watch," Brujon snorted.

"Then name something," Montparnasse growled.

But just as the words left his mouth, all eyes turned up to the doorway and there stood a sheepish Éponine. She gave a brief, sad and polite smile. "I just wanted some water," she said meekly.

Every eye watched her as she walked around them to the refrigerator and pulled out a water bottle. She fingered it in her hands for a bit, struggling to open the top. She tiptoed up to Montparnasse, "Could you open it for me, please? I just put on moisturizer."

Montparnasse nodded and grabbed the bottle from her hands. Her twisted the cap off before he took a sip from it and then handed the water bottle and the cap back to her.

"Thank you," she squeaked before she nearly dashed out of the room.

Montparnasse brought his attention back to the boys who were exchanging mischievous glances with each other. "Well?" he said impatiently. "Name something."

Brujon smirked devilishly showing off his gapped and yellowed teeth, "Éponine."

"What about her?"

He chuckled over his next words while the boys sat with their evil smirks as well. "We decided...we want to watch her _touch_ herself," he whispered.

"No!" Montparnasse snapped angrily.

"Well! I know you won't let anyone of us spend the night with her...so...c'mon man," Brujon begged, the smirk falling from his face.

Montparnasse clenched his jaw tightly. "No," he said again.

"C'mon, you can watch too!" Babet piped in.

"Éponine is not for _your_ enjoyment," he deadpanned.

"Oh? But she's only for yours? Where's the fairness in that?" Brujon cut him off, "C'mon, we all know how hot she is...I get hard just looking at her. C'mon 'Parnasse, just once?"

"No," Montparnasse barked. "Name something else."

Brujon fell back in his seat discontented. "Fine..." he grumbled until another smirk crossed his lips. "Then...I want to see you punish her," he stated.

Montparnasse looked a little taken aback as his eyebrows furrowed. "But she didn't do anything."

"Oh, but she will. So why not get ahead?"

Montparnasse took in a deep breath, thinking it over. "What else?"

"Montparnasse! C'mon...just whack her or something. That's it."

He grumbled while his hands tapped the table. "That's it?"

"That's it," Brujon repeated.

Montparnasse exhaled a long breath. "Fine."

The boys exchanged chuckles as Claquesous scooped up the cards and distributed them once again. Montparnasse smirked when he picked up his hand, but he quickly let his smile fall as he put on his poker face. The rest of the boys put their chips in the center of the table. "I fold," Claquesous announced as he looked at the amount of chips in the center of the table.

"Same," Babet said. He looked to Montparnasse and Brujon to see what they were going to do next.

Brujon smiled evilly, "Call."

Montparnasse placed down his cards with the flick of his wrist, letting them all spread out in front of him. "Two aces, queen high," he said rather proudly.

Brujon scoffed and spread out his hand. "Royal flush."

Montparnasse's face fell expressionless before he exploded. "Dammit!" he shouted, pushing the table away from him.

Brujon cackled with laughter, nearly doubling over out of his chair. "Well, go ahead and call her, Montparnasse."

He could only respond by sighing deeply as he composed himself. Montparnasse wiped a hand over his face and stood up from his chair.

"Oh and Montparnasse," Brujon chuckled. "The rules have changed since I won."

Montparnasse stared daggers at him, "What?"

"I want you to use your belt," he said with a nod to it.

His fists clenched together tightly at his sides before he stalked away. Quickly, the boys stood to their feet and eagerly followed him into the living room.

Montparnasse stood, taking a deep breath. "Éponine!" he called once and only once.

In only a brief moment's time, Éponine emerged from the bedroom and walked down the hallway into the living room. "What?" she asked only to be greeted by the wicked smiles of the men before her. But her husband stood resolute and she knew immediately that something was off.

She approached him cautiously but he held a hand up to stop her. "Face the wall, 'Ponine," he commanded. She gave him a skeptical look but she did as he said and hesitantly turned her back to him. "Take off your shirt," was the next command. She turned her head around with wide eyes only to see the chuckles from the boys. "Do it!" Montparnasse snapped, noting her hesitation. Éponine turned away from them and carefully lifted her shirt over her head leaving her in her bra and exposing her bruised abdomen. She dropped the shirt to the floor beside her with a gentle whoosh. "Now get on your knees."

"I don't un - "

"Just do it," he snapped, exasperated.

So Éponine bit her lip as she did just as he said. In the end, she always did what he said. Her fingers fidgeted by her side, not knowing what was coming but waiting in anxious anticipation for it. As she heard the clink of the unlatching of a belt, her stomach dropped. She could feel the water pooling in her eyes just as she could feel her heart thundering like a million galloping horses.

She shut her eyes and waited.

Montparnasse held the belt in his hands, his fingers tightening around it with each passing second. Slowly, he folded the belt in half, gripping the ends of it and stroking the loop end with his other hand. His heart was racing as he stared at the back of Éponine. Her bare skin was beautiful, so delicate and pure. He looked back at the belt in his hands and then stole a glance at his friends. They gave him encouraging looks, waiting on tender hooks for him to actually do it. Montparnasse took a bold step forward.

The silence filled the room, coating them in tension. It hung there for ages before it was banished by the crack of the belt against skin.

Éponine cried out, falling onto her hands against the floor. The pain was unbearable. It is one thing to write about pain, where the reader is safe from actually feeling it, but to actually feel the pain is indescribable. There are no words that can actually measure the ache the swells on the skin long after the initial hit is over, the stinging that radiates over her back while the heat gathers on her skin, and the hurt of knowing it was caused by the one person she loved the most.

Montparnasse looked down at her as she lied defenseless on the floor. He never realized until that moment how that one piece of leather in his hands could cause this amount of pain, how it could instill so much fear, and how powerful it could make him feel. The strength coursed through his veins, he never felt so alive with the blood pumping in his ears and his heart hammering in his chest. But the weird thing was that he liked it. A wicked grin crossed his once stone face.

Brujon was the first one to break the silence with his abrupt guffaw after his previous shocked expression. Montparnasse looked back at him with that devilish smile on his face. The boys could only smile back at him, except for Babet who stood with his lips pressed in a thin line.

As Éponine pushed on her hands to sit herself back up, with the tears threatening to spill over at any moment, she wasn't expecting the second lashing. She fell back onto the floor, her hands giving way as her face collided with the wood.

"Alright," Babet stated, placing a hand on Montparnasse's chest to hold him back. "I think that's enough." He used most of his strength to push Montparnasse back a step.

"Don't be a kill-joy, Babet!" Brujon taunted.

Babet let go of Montparnasse's chest. "I don't hit women," he said, impassive.

"Ain't ya glad then that yer not the one hittin' 'er?" Claquesous quipped.

But Éponine could barely register anything they were saying. Her thoughts flew all over the place and the main thing she focused on was not crying in front of them. She would not let them see her cry, and she would not give them the satisfaction. She laid there for a moment, letting the cold floor cool the skin on her burning cheek. She took in a shallow breath, afraid to try and get up again, afraid to face the group of men and afraid to see her husband's face.

She was completely terrified. But against her better judgement, she slowly sat up and rested on her shins for a moment. If a third lashing were to be given, it would've come by now so she hoped she was safe. Her head teetered on her shoulders, her whole body seemed to scream in pain. She felt as if she could pass out right now and she wondered that if she did maybe they would actually feel sorry for her and show her pity. But she didn't want to find out.

She stood to her feet and bolted for the bedroom.

"Grab her!" Brujon yelled worriedly.

Montparnasse was right behind her as she made it to the bedroom door. She burst open the door as he grabbed her forearm in his large hand. "Éponine," he stated deadly calm.

She whipped her head around to look at him with fresh tears swelling in her eyes. But all she could do was pull against him, hoping he would relent and just let her be. She was able to pull herself over the threshold of the door but he still held her arm with brute force. Éponine gripped the door and pushed it forward letting it close against his arm. He unwillingly let go of her and she fell to the ground.

Éponine scrambled to her feet as Montparnasse stalked into the bedroom. Her heart dropped in fear as he approached her. But she was paralyzed with fright. He came right up to her, grabbing her by her wrists, neither hard nor soft. "Éponine," he said again calmly.

By this time, the tears poured from her eyes. "Why?" she croaked. "I didn't do anything. Why would you do this to me?"

He gave her wrists a slight shake. "I-It was a bet. The guys...wanted to see...And I lost the hand..."

"So you bet me?" she whimpered.

"I-I...they wanted to watch you touch yourself..." Her eyes shut tightly as the tears cascaded down her cheeks. "I didn't - I wouldn't..." he choked out, watching her cry. Her muscles were too weak to even pull against him now.

Her eyes opened with new found anger. "You could've given them the iPad, or the TV, or-or...or the damn house! But me? Why _me_?"

"'Ponine...I-I'm..." He shook his head letting the words die out. He couldn't say it. He couldn't say those two words. But he pulled Éponine closer and wrapped her arms around his torso as he held her firmly.

She cried out loudly, letting every loud sob escape her as she shook violently. Montparnasse didn't understand it. When he hit her, he didn't feel anything but now his heart felt like it would explode. He just stood there holding her tightly while he rested his cheek on top of her head. His eyes began to ache and he felt as though he could shed a tear as well. With every sob, he just held her tighter, hoping his action would make the pain in his heart hurt a little less.

Once her sobs quieted down, he scooped her up and placed her gently on the bed over the covers. He stroked her hair back and kissed her forehead, wishing this would finally be the last of her sobs. "Just put on your pajamas and climb into bed, I'll be right back," he whispered into her ear. She just nodded as he silently escaped out of the room.

But on his way out, he made sure to grab the cordless phone from it's holder on the nightstand. He had to. It was just a precaution.

Wordlessly, Montparnasse sent the boys home. The night was officially over now. After a few minutes, Montparnasse wandered back into the bedroom with a bagful of ice only to find Éponine asleep.

He realized she never changed her clothes, but she fell asleep in the very position he left her in. He climbed onto the bed, careful not to disturb her too much. He gazed over her exposed skin as she laid on her right side, showing off the nasty purple bruise right under her ribs. He wondered for a moment where she had gotten that, but he bet he probably did it to her.

Montparnasse gently reached over and touched the sharp blood red line on her cheek. He felt his heart sink a little with remorse as he gazed about her body. On close inspection, her skin was not pure, in fact, it was littered with small scars and bruises from over the years. He could tell which ones were from him and which were from her father. The top of her shoulder, held a wide circular scar and he remembered giving that one to her in his moment of ecstasy not too long ago. The more he looked at her, he couldn't help the ache that swirled in his gut. What was that strange feeling? But that was it! He suddenly realized, it was guilt.

But he shook his head, guilt is for the powerless. Everything Éponine received was because she deserved it. She had always been that snide and cheeky child, she never knew when to hold her tongue and she knew just how to make people mad. But for the past year, she had finally learned how to be good, she learned to keep quiet and speak only when spoken too. Recently, though, she had started to act up again. For some reason she started to get the idea she could talk back to him again. And that angered him.

But looking at her the swollen red line that was beginning to form on her back, he knew she did nothing to receive the belt. Montparnasse gently touched the bare skin of her shoulder and pushed her face down flat onto the bed. He took his hand and gently stroked her hair while he placed the bag of ice over her back. A sigh escaped his lips as he shifted the blankets around to cover her and make her more comfortable. All the while, his fingers never stopped caressing her skin. He just laid down beside her, staring at the back of her head.

His mind wouldn't stop replaying the events that had just happened. He obviously felt awful for what he did to Éponine. Yet, he couldn't deny the power he felt when he used the belt against her. It was a strange new feeling, one that didn't matter if she did wrong or not. It was a feeling that secured his authority over her. The feeling justified his actions and he loved every bit of it. And those feelings began to drive out those other feelings of guilt.

Soon, his thoughts began to remind him of the old mantra from the bible. It reminded him why he should not feel bad about the things he did to Éponine. And before he knew it, he was reciting those words in her ear as she slept, "I do not permit a woman to teach or to exercise authority over a man, but she is to remain silent." *

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* 1 Timothy 2:12

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**A/N: So, if you still want to read this story after everything you just read, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Really, please let me know how this chapter was. I know that Montparnasse is a dick..that much is clear, but from the psychological side of things, I hope I was able to capture his internal struggle and show what is happening with him inside.**

**Again, thank you for reading! You seriously are THE best!**


	10. Of Realizing, Learning and Knowing

**A/N: Just sending everyone another thank you. I really appreciate you liking this story. The content kind of worries me a little. It is just very depressing. **

**But I also wanted to take this time to say that I wrote in the summary that the rating may change. I may need to warrant this an M fic soon. Since Montparnasse has hit his turning point, I foresee the violence only getting worse. As much as I will try to narrate it, cut away from it, and so forth, I will put in advance that reader discretion is advised. But these things are necessary for plot development. Even though I don't like it, I don't have much of a way around it. I feel I may lose readers by doing this, but that is why I'm letting you know in advance. I'm terribly sorry. Please let me know how you would feel about this too because you are my audience and I love you guys so much!****  
**

**Take a breath of relief though because this chapter has no violence in it. The next few chapter the violence will be minimum, but again, I want to put a warning in advance.**

**Thank you all again!**

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...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 10 - Of Realizing, Learning and Knowing

...

With a glass placed under the tap, he pulled the lever down and filled the glass to the brim with Sam Adams.

The gold liquid sloshed a bit as he placed the glass on the counter in front of his friend, "I don't know, Ferre, she seemed pretty sure," the bartender sighed. "She's just got me all confused, I don't even know what to think anymore."

Combeferre took a slug of the beer as Enjolras rested on the heels of his hands across from him. "But you said you had evidence. And she told you it was her husband who hit her with the glass?" the pediatrician asked.

"She did. But she said he was drunk. But then she tells me he isn't an alcoholic. So, I just don't know..."

Combeferre looked about the bar room for a second before his eyes landed back to Enjolras softly. "You remember Melénie, right?"

Enjolras deadpanned, "Of course I remember Melénie. She was the first one I thought of when I met Éponine."

"Look, I'm just saying, it sounds similar," Combeferre said, holding his hand up in mock defense as he put down his glass with the other.

"And that's why I immediately thought I was dealing with a domestic violence case. But she told me she's known him for years and she didn't seem like she was making any of it up. She was _really_ happy. And the picture on her desk - there's no faking that."

"So maybe this isn't like Melénie after all."

"But how do you then explain all the other details?"

"Like what?"

"The first night, for one. Her husband came in here like a bat-outta-hell and she was scared to death."

Combeferre shrugged. "Anger issues? I bet she was scared to be caught and probably embarrassed. She wasn't supposed to be there you said, right? She was hiding and watching the hockey game?"

"Alright, so maybe he's got anger issues, but to not let her watch something...? That's not right."

"Ah but you never said he never _let_ her not watch it. It was that he got mad when she did. So she was probably doing him a favor, and keeping him from getting mad."

Enjolras shrugged in frustration. "A year later then. He got mad that night when she left him the second time I saw her."

"He could've been worried. She just ran off like that, you'd be too."

"She lies to him so she can come here."

"Would you want to tell your wife that you're having a drink almost every night with another woman?" He held up a hand before Enjolras could cut him off. "Even if you're only friends."

Enjolras sighed. "She had these bruises on her wrists and when I noticed she just pulled her sleeves down and wouldn't say anything."

Combeferre thought it over a minute and then smirked. "BDSM?" The bartender reached over the counter and whacked his friend in the shoulder. "Hey! It's a possibility," he defended. "What else?"

"Well, then she has this bruise under her ribs. She didn't tell me about it, but I caught her looking at it that other night."

"Enj," he said seriously. "She was scared to death that night, you really think she wanted to tell you about anything else on her? She already felt bad about the cut on her face."

Enjolras exhaled in length. "So you're saying it could just all be normal? That everything is okay with her?"

"Maybe you're just over-thinking it. You're worried." Combeferre took another sip of his beer. "I don't blame you for it...considering..."

Enjolras nodded not needing him to elaborate on the old situation further. "Well, I felt bad that I made her mad...She hasn't been here in two days, almost three now."

"You can't call her?"

"No, I told you, she doesn't have a phone - and that's weird too! Why wouldn't he let her have one?"

"Enj, it's not that weird. Lots of couples prefer to share a phone. It's cheaper to pay for one phone plan."

"Ferre," he deadpanned mimicking his friend's tone. "He works as a Business Manager for Apple, they have plenty of money. She drives a Lexus for God's sake!"

"You don't know their financial situation - "

"Who's side are you on here?"

Combeferre let out a chuckle, "I'm just saying. A good lawyer knows all the facts before he judges."

Enjolras waved a hand to brush him off, "Yeah yeah yeah..." he mused, but he knew his friend was right. "The point is, I think I really upset her."

"Well, are you gonna do something to ever make it up to her?"

"Well if she would decide to come here, I have a plan."

"Oh?" he asked raising a brow, "What - "

But before he could finish his question, Combeferre was mauled by a girl jumping onto his back to give him a hug from behind. "Ferre! And Enjolras!" Musichetta beamed.

"Hey," Combeferre said, rising to give her a proper hug.

"Where have you been? I've missed you," she cried right as Joly walked up behind her and placed an arm around her waist.

"Nowhere. Where have you been?" Combeferre quipped.

As the three spent the next few minutes chatting about their lives and what had been new, Enjolras excused himself to take care of a few customers. As he walked down the length of the bar, he caught a glimpse out the front window and his breath caught in his throat. There Éponine stood a few feet in front of the entrance staring up to it and looking as if she was trying to will herself to walk in. He stared at her for a few moments and watched as she turned her head away and began to walk down the street.

Enjolras couldn't get out from behind the bar fast enough. His friends gave him curious looks as he bolted for the door. "Enjolras!" Combeferre called out but the bartender didn't answer.

He ran out the front doors and looked down the street just in time to see her white coat disappearing in the distance. "Éponine!" he yelled.

She abruptly stopped and turned around. When her eyes landed on Enjolras, she gave him a wary smile. He jogged over to her as she walked a few paces to meet him. "Hey," she breathed leaving a puff of smoke in the cold winter air.

"Hey," Enjolras responded, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep warm. "I...uh...haven't seen you, I was just worried." He cut himself off to watch as Éponine's eyes darted around. She seemed scared, like she was afraid that her true emotions would show through with the slightest breeze. "Are you okay?" he couldn't help but ask.

Before she could even open her mouth to respond, her large brown eyes finally met Enjolras' and her face crumpled before him.

"Hey, hey..." he whispered, shushing her gently. He moved a step closer and hovered a hand above her back, afraid that she might jump if he touched her. But instead, she folded herself into Enjolras' chest, grabbing onto the lapels of his vest and sobbed. "It's okay," he said, finally wrapping his arm around her. "C'mon," he beckoned and began leading her back to the bar.

The rush of warm air greeted them as they entered. Enjolras still had Éponine wrapped in his arm as Joly, Musichetta and Combeferre stared at the pair with curious and dumb-founded expressions.

"Enjolras?" Joly called. Enjolras lifted his head and met his friend's gaze. Joly gave him a look asking what was going on but Enjolras shrugged and held his hand palm up saying he didn't know.

So, Enjolras just continued leading Éponine behind the bar and into the back room. Once inside the dimly lit, gray room, he peeled himself away from her and pulled a stool out from under the steel metal table. He gestured her to take a seat and she did so. Éponine sat for a moment wiping her eyes and composing herself.

"What's going on?" he asked gently, pulling out a stool for himself.

Éponine took in deep and shallow breaths. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just start crying."

"I don't care about that," he comforted, "but please, Éponine, tell me what's wrong. What happened?"

She looked to the floor, closing her eyes and taking another breath.

"What happened?" he pressed again.

Éponine took in one final deep breath and stood to her feet. Enjolras gave her a curious look and stood to his feet as well. But when she didn't go anywhere, he just watched her. She began undoing the buttons on her pea coat, slipped it off, and placed it over the stool. Éponine gave Enjolras a worried look but then turned her back to him. Slowly, she gathered the bottom hem of her shirt and lifted it over her head.

She heard Enjolras take in a sharp breath, "Oh my god, Éponine." He reached a hand out and touched the large reddish-purple lines that traveled from the top of her right shoulder blade to the left side of her lower back. The lines broke where her bra strap sat horizontally across her back. Éponine shivered under his touch and turned back around to face him as she slipped her shirt back on over her head. She wouldn't meet his gaze but he could see the tears swelling in her eyes once again.

"Éponine, please tell me he didn't - "

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said shaking her head. She crossed her arms over herself, rubbing her forearms repeatedly and closing herself up. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." she kept muttering.

"Éponine, what happened? What did he do?"

She kept shaking her head. "I didn't do anything...I didn't do anything."

"What did _he_ do? Please tell me...Éponine?" he coaxed. It was odd how she didn't cry, but she was very much on the verge of tears. She just acted as if she were in a trance, repeating herself, shaking her head, and not making eye contact with him.

"Maybe I made him mad," she shrugged. "I don't know...I just don't know..."

"Éponine," Enjolras said sternly. He grabbed her shoulders and she jumped in his hands, but he didn't release her. "What happened," he demanded.

Her eyes met his for the briefest of seconds but then stared at the ground. "He was sorry for it; I know he was."

Enjolras sighed in frustration and released her arms. "I'm gonna call the police."

Éponine's head snapped up so fast. "No!" she shouted. "You can't! No! No!"

"He hurt you, Éponine. I've got to do something."

"No, no! You can't. Please, don't call the police," she begged. "Please..." she whimpered as a tear finally slipped over her eyelid.

He took a large breath. "Why?"

"...because...because it was an accident."

"An accident?" he repeated incredulously.

"Yes."

He closed his eyes and sighed. "Then stay with me tonight?" he asked upon opening his eyes. She shook her head. "Why not? I don't want him to hurt you again."

"He won't. It was an accident."

"Really?"

"Yes." She picked up her coat and draped it over her arms. "I didn't mean to bother you," she whispered, wiping any remnants of tears with the back of her finger. "I didn't mean to cry about it, either. You must think I'm pathetic - "

"I could never."

Her eyes flicked to his to see if he meant it. Upon seeing only sincerity, she continued, "It hurts...that's why I was crying..."

Enjolras let out another sigh. "Well...at least let me get you a drink, okay? ...Maybe you'll forget about it? The pain, I mean."

"Okay," she agreed in a whisper.

He held the door for her as he led her out of the back room of the bar. His friends fell silent as he walked her around and sat her down right next to Combeferre, Musichetta, and Joly.

The three gave Enjolras a puzzled look as Éponine just sat there with her coat folded neatly over her lap as she fiddled with her fingers. She kept her head down, mindlessly swirling the gold band around and around on her left ring finger.

"What would you like to drink?" Enjolras asked softly, leaning in close to her as he kept a hand over the back of her chair. She didn't look up to him but she shrugged. He nodded, "I'll surprise you, okay?"

He tapped the back of her chair twice before he walked off behind the bar again. In the next minute, he began mixing her something to drink but stayed close by to listen in on their conversation.

"Hey, Éponine," Musichetta began. Éponine lifted her head and smiled falsely, but kindly to her. "How are you?"

"Fine," Éponine said sweetly. She wiped under her eyes again out of habit, just making sure there were no tears that escaped and then looked back at her hands.

The red head looked over to Joly who merely shrugged in response. Her eyebrows furrowed as she looked back to Éponine. "What happened to your cheek, sweetie?" she asked noting the still prominent red line that would no doubt leave a scar.

Éponine gazed up from her hands to respond but no words came out of her mouth as she opened it to talk. Joly placed a hand on Musichetta's shoulder and shook his head just as Combeferre sent her a wide-eyed glance. Musichetta certainly got the message that that was a topic to avoid. But she couldn't help it, she was just so confused as to what was really going on at the moment.

So the four of them sat in silence. Musichetta and the boys didn't quite know what else to say to Éponine. They exchanged glances at one another but soon, Enjolras returned, relieving them of their duty of trying to talk to her. He placed the drink in front of her and she took a shy sip of it.

"Hey, Éponine," he prompted. Her eyes flickered up to him to ask what he wanted silently. "I...um...I know you like hockey. And I know I upset you the other day," he muttered the last part, "but I've got an extra ticket to the Bruin-Sabres game this friday night, and I'd like to know if you wanted to come with me."

Musichetta gasped and stared at Enjolras wide eyed. Enjolras just ignored her and looked back at Éponine. "Well, what do you say?"

"Um..." she trailed, pausing to think it over. Would it be wrong to go out with Enjolras? It was obvious that her husband wasn't included in these plans. And she knew Montparnasse would never let her go. But would she be being unfaithful by just going out for a night with Enjolras? Would that be considered cheating? Oh how she really wanted to go to a game though. A real live hockey game! She had never been to a live hockey game before and she never did anything for herself and this would be something she could really enjoy. Besides, Montparnasse had been just awful to her lately, so she deserved to do something that made her happy. Well, she had been pretty good at lying lately. She took another sip of her drink and nodded. "I would like to," she said quietly.

Enjolras' face lit up. "Really? Oh, great!"

Her face broke into a real smile for the first time that evening. "I'll come by tomorrow and we can sort the details, okay?" she confirmed as he slipped herself off the barstool.

She picked up her coat off her lap and proceeded to put it on. "Yes...um, are you leaving already?" Enjolras couldn't help himself from asking.

"I'm afraid I must be getting home. Thank you very much...for everything." Reaching her slender fingers into her coat pocket, she pulled out her little wrist wallet. They all couldn't help but watch as she unzipped it to pull out a few dollars. Éponine's face began turning red as she only pulled out two single dollar bills. She fiddled around the empty wallet looking for more money in vain. "I-I...uh...I know...I have more..."

Enjolras watched her in sympathy. "I take credit too," he said, trying to be helpful.

She paled for a moment before her face became bright red once again. She fiddled her clammy hands together. "I-I...I..." she swallowed her words, "I don't have a credit card." All four pairs of eyes stared at her in disbelief. "On me," she jumped in to cover herself, "I-I don't have one on me...today...um..."

Enjolras shook his head. "Then it's on me, okay?"

"No, I can run home, I can get some, I can come back...or an ATM...I can - "

"Please, Éponine, it's alright."

"Then tomorrow. I promise, I'm sorry, I'll come back tomorrow and pay for it, I promise."

Enjolras gave her a friendly smile. "Alright, that's fine...I'll see you tomorrow."

With shaky hands she closed up her wallet and stuffed it back into her pocket. "Yes, I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I didn't - "

"Éponine, it's okay...trust me."

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Thank you. I'm sorry, I'll see you tomorrow." At that moment, she couldn't be more thankful for the cold winter weather that would soothe her burning cheeks. Enjolras regretted every step she took that led her closer and closer to her husband.

As soon as Musichetta saw Éponine's small frame disappear out the doors, she whipped her head to the bartender. "Enjolras," she scolded, "how dare you!"

Enjolras looked taken aback at her abruptness. "What?" he asked incredulously.

"I can't believe you! How dare you ask her to a hockey game with you. The nerve! She's a married woman!"

Joly put a hand on her arm to stop her, "'Chetta, I don't believe this is your business - "

"Well, I don't care," she snapped to Joly before turning back to Enjolras. "Do you want to be a homewrecker? How dare you ask her! Of all people, _you_ should know better."

"I know what I'm doing, Musichetta," Enjolras cut her off. "Besides, she agreed to go with me."

"Only because you put her on the spot," she retorted. "You asked her in front of all of us! Of course she couldn't refuse."

Combeferre just averted his gaze from the obviously perturbed woman next to him. "'Chetta, please," Joly tried again. "This isn't - "

"My business, I know. But still, Enjolras is on the verge of ruining a perfectly good marriage! How dare you!"

Joly stood from his chair, grabbing Musichetta by the elbow. "Come, let's go take a walk and talk." He pulled her from her chair to her feet as well. "We'll be right back."

"I am not done with you, Enjolras!" she shouted as Joly led her out of the bar.

When they were finally out the doors, Enjolras heaved a sigh, falling on his elbows against the counter.

"Hope Joly knows what he's getting himself into with her," Combeferre remarked, trying to make Enjolras laugh.

"He knows," he said tiredly, not in the mood to joke. "She's just trying to be a good friend anyway. I don't blame her."

Combeferre grimaced, staring down at his beer. "So you're really planning on taking her to a hockey game? You really think that is a good idea?"

Enjolras just let out another tired sigh. "I've got to do something, Ferre."

"Enj," he said seriously, "Don't you think you may be going overboard with her...just a little?"

"You don't understand, Ferre. What I saw today..." he shook his head in thought, "I just know."

"Know what?"

"She's _just_ like Melénie."


	11. Of Hockey and Hiding

**A/N: I'm sorry about the wait, and I do hope it wasn't too long. Well, I can't wait to hear what you think about this chapter. Hopefully, it will shed some light on some things.**

**To Just a Guest: Oh, I wish you had an account so I could discuss some things about this story with you. But, sadly, you don't and so I'll reply to your review here. First, thank you for your in depth reviews, I always look forward to them and they are really a treat to read. So, Melénie will be explained farther in the story, so don't worry about that. As for Éponine, she really doesn't know she is in an abusive relationship so she wouldn't try to reach out for help. To her, this is normal. And the reality of these types of situations is that when you see them happening, most of the time, you are not quick to jump into action. As one of his faults, that is sadly Enjolras' reaction to Éponine. And also, the psychology behind it all just makes it a sad and frustrating situation. So anyway, thanks for reading as always, and I look forward to talking to you more. **

**Warnings: Mild violence, but it's really not that bad. Trust me on that.**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 11 - Of Hockey and Hiding

...

Even though the air turned cold outside with the parting sun, inside the house was warm due to the fireplace crackling and dinner being cooked on the stove.

The television in the living room was left on however no one was paying any attention to it. It simply served as background noise for the couple who busied themselves elsewhere. Montparnasse, who was seated on the couch, gazed up in thought for a moment to look out the windows blackened by the dark evening before he turned his attention back to his iPad. He tapped the screen twice before smirking at his stocks that had just risen.

All thought seemed to be on the money he just made when his nose suddenly alerted him of the delightful smelling chicken being cooked. He breathed in a scent of it before sighing in contentment. And shortly after, his stomach growled. He breathed in the scent again, hoping to satisfy his hunger when that delightful smell soon turned bitter. His head lifted and he breathed in deeply again letting the stench further fill his nostrils.

Now alerted, he sat up with a head turned to the kitchen. Following his nose, he rose from the couch and stormed into the kitchen only to see the pan smoking as the chicken burned while Éponine stood right by it with her hands in the sink scrubbing a plate. She didn't even seem to notice what was happening just to the right of her.

"Éponine!" he hollered. She immediately jumped back frightened and turned to face him. "_Idiot_! Don't you see the chicken burning! What's wrong with you?"

Éponine removed her soapy hands from the sink and jumped to the adjacent stove only to be shoved out of the way by an angry Montparnasse. He proceeded to shut off the burner and remove the pan from the hot stove. "I'm sorry, Parnasse - "

But her sentence was cut off by a slap to the cheek. Like a magnet, her hands flew to her burning cheek to help the stinging. "Are you stupid?!" he berated, "You're standing right here! Don't you smell the chicken burning!" Luckily this slap wasn't as bad as some of the others she had received in the past. She knew this one wouldn't leave a bruise, but the pain still hurt just as much as his words did.

"I'm sorry," she tried again, courageously lifting her gaze to him. "I-I...I was thinking...I didn't - "

"One simple task, Éponine! Fry the chicken! That was it, and you had to go screw that up, dammit. You must be stupid..." He didn't look at her but continued to yell at her as he worked with the spatula to scrap the chicken from pan.

"I can fix it - " she said meekly as she reached for the pan in his grasp.

He swatted her hand away abruptly as he pulled the pan from her reach. "No, you can't! It's black! Dammit! Now I've gotta throw this all away," he chastised as he stomped to the side of the counter and stepped on the pedal of the garbage can. Roughly, he dumped the chicken from the pan into the trash.

Éponine watched in fright as he threw the pan back onto the stove top with a loud _clank_. "Now what are we going to eat, _Éponine_! I'm starving!" His yelling soon turned to a bitter chuckle and she winced with each breath he took. "You're _such_ an idiot, Éponine. What kind of a wife can't even cook dinner, huh? Apparently mine can't..."

"I said, I was distracted - "

"What moron gets distracted while doing dishes?!" he whipped. "Or are you too stupid to even smell it burning?"

She wrung her damp hands together in agitation, occasionally swirling her wedding ring around her finger, nervous while she awaited him to finish insulting her. "I can make something else...?"

"No! Get out of here! I guess _I'm_ going to be the one to cook now because my wife is too incompetent to do so," he muttered while he opened cabinets, pulling out various food items, and slamming them to the counter.

"I...I - "

His eyes turned sharply to hers in rage. "Get outta here, I said! Go do something else! Go fold laundry, I don't know, or unless you're gonna screw that up too!"

Éponine dashed out of the room running into the laundry room to find a basket of clothes that needed folding. Her hands were shaking as she tried to busy her mind with her task at hand rather than focus on his words still clearly in the back of her mind.

While she decided to hide out in the laundry room for a bit, she grabbed the clothes from the hamper and began to load up the machine. She pulled out Montparnasse's slacks that he had just worn that day. She muttered about them needing to be dry cleaned, not machine washable and was about to toss them to the side when she felt something heavy in the back pocket. Sure enough, it was his wallet. She gracefully pulled it from the pocket and sifted through it, looking at all the money. She could easily swipe any one of those cards, or a handful of the cash, but he would no doubt notice. She placed the wallet on the washing machine and if by some stroke of luck, she felt a plastic card in his front pocket. She pulled it out and realized it was a credit card that he obviously used that day and forewent putting it back in his wallet. Well, if it wasn't in his wallet to begin with, perhaps she could say she didn't see it and it ended up in the pile of clothes for the dry cleaners. Then perhaps could borrow it for Friday, so she could at least have some money to have at the hockey game. Then she could even pay Enjolras for the ticket if he preferred. This could work. So delicately, she slipped the plastic card into her own back pocket and carried on with her chores.

As she filled the basket of clean clothes, she could still hear him banging objects around in the kitchen while he muttered about her stupidity. She felt guilty about burning the chicken but she hadn't even realized it was happening. She was just so engrossed about thinking of a lie to tell Montparnasse so she would be able to go to the hockey game that she forgot she was even supposed to flip the chicken.

She brought the basket of clothes to the living room and took the garment on top to begin folding. Somehow, she still needed to break the news to Montparnasse, but now she had to wait for him to cool down before she could even speak with him again. Éponine rubbed her cheek again, finally feeling the stinging begin to ebb away.

It took another slow hour, an awkward silent meal, and full clean up with no help from Montparnasse until things had finally cooled down enough so Éponine could talk to him.

He was currently seated on the couch again, eyes glued to his - well sometimes _their_ \- iPad while Éponine folded the last garment and placed it in the basket. She took a shy seat on the couch next to him.

"Hey, 'Parnasse?" she said timidly. He responded with a low grunt. "This friday...um...I was wondering if I could go to Azelma's house again?"

He was silent for a while, never looking up to her. Obviously, he was still mad about the chicken incident. "She wants _you_ at her house _again_?" he finally said.

"Umm...yes," she said as more of a question rather than a statement. She didn't quite know how to take his last comment.

"Seriously?" He looked over to her finally, maybe to see if she was actually being serious. Éponine just slowly nodded, doing her best to keep her expression impassive. "Why on earth would she invite _you_ to her house _again_?"

"Well...we've been getting along better now," she lied. "She just invited me to watch a movie with her, maybe order in dinner...and just catch up."

Montparnasse shook his head in disbelief as his head turned back to the iPad. "What kind of movie?"

Éponine needed to think of something quick so there would be no chance he would invite himself along with her, as she knew would be his next proposition. "Probably a musical...maybe _Singin' in the Rain_."

He scoffed snidely. "Eww...why would you waste your time watching that garbage?"

"We always used to watch musicals when we were younger...I don't know, we just like them."

"You should watch a real film. One with an _actual_ plot," he bit out.

"But there is a - "

"Yeah, because breaking into song and dance every four seconds counts as a plot. Sure."

She waited for him to finish scoffing and for the silence to fill enough to become uncomfortable. "Well...can I go, 'Parnasse?"

Montparnasse sighed tiredly. "I guess..."

Éponine's eyes lit up, "Oh thank you! Thank you, 'Parnasse!" She couldn't stop herself in that instant, she just leaped across the couch and wrapped Montparnasse in a hug.

He pushed her off of him as soon as he could, "Éponine! Look what you just did!" he scolded holding the iPad in the air. "Now I've lost my page. Ugh! Get off! I'm busy..." He pushed her off completely this time. But Éponine didn't care at this point. She was just too excited that she was going to go to a _real live hockey game_ with Enjolras.

...

"Oh a real live hockey game! I can't believe I'm here!" Her eyes lit up like a thousand stars as she gazed at the beauty of the TD Garden. "I just can't believe it..."

"Well believe it," Enjolras said coming up behind her, "you're really here."

Just then, Éponine's eyes locked on the statue not even twenty feet from where they were standing. She gasped before breaking off from Enjolras and running through the mob of people to the statue. It was a very unique sculpture, indeed. It was a bronze statue depicting the famous scene of hockey player, Bobby Orr, flying through the air immediately after scoring "The Goal" that clinched the Bruins' 1970 Stanley Cup Championship over the St. Louis Blues.

Éponine stopped right in front of it. The lights surrounding the statue cast off a warm glow on Éponine's features and Enjolras couldn't help but stare at her for a second before he wandered up behind her.

"Wow...just look at it! Isn't it beautiful?" she said in awe.

"Haven't you ever seen the statue before?" he asked curiously.

"Well, no, I've never been to a game and I don't have any reason to drive in this part of the city."

Enjolras just smiled sincerely to her. "Well, go stand next to it, let me take a picture of you with it."

She lit up excitedly and positioned herself in front of the statue. While Enjolras took out his phone, Éponine spent those moments adjusting her white peacoat and gloves while she flipped part of her hair over her shoulder and rearranged it to her liking. He only grinned watching her fuss over herself as any normal girl would do.

"You look beautiful," he commented as he held his phone up and snapped the picture.

A tap on his shoulder alerted his attention to behind him. An older man with his wife stood smiling. "Excuse me, sir, I can take a picture of you and your girlfriend for you if you'd like."

"Oh, we're just friends," Éponine called out to them.

"Well, she sure just friend-zoned you," the man muttered to Enjolras.

"She's right though, we're just friends," he said softly back to the man. "But sure, thanks," he agreed, handing his phone over anyway. Enjolras jogged over an positioned himself next to Éponine. He wrapped his arm over her shoulders and felt her tense at the touch. But in ten seconds, the picture was taken and Enjolras removed himself from Éponine to retrieve his phone. "Thank you," he said again to the man.

The man and his wife carried on their way after that which left Enjolras and Éponine to follow. They walked side by side into the arena, but Éponine was sure to leave a good distance between them so that they wouldn't accidentally bump shoulders.

Enjolras handed Éponine her ticket as they approached the line of people waiting to have their tickets scanned. She took the thick piece of paper from him. "What do I owe you for this?"

Enjolras raised his brow. "Nothing, just have a good time."

Her eyes gazed down at the ticket as she saw how much it had cost. "Eighty-three dollars? That's a lot of money, Enjolras. Please let me pay half of it at least."

"I promise, it's a gift. Don't even worry about it."

The line moved forward as she sighed. After their tickets were scanned, they mounted the escalators to their designated section.

On the way there, Enjolras' eyes landed on the concession stand in the distance and he led the way over to it. "What do you want? My treat."

Éponine's stomach growled at the thought of food. Montparnasse had assumed she would eat at Azelma's house tonight and so he only made enough food for himself. He hadn't let her cook since the chicken incident. So in all, Éponine was starving right now.

"I'm fine," she nearly choked out.

"Are you sure, cause I'm going to get myself something...it's really not a problem." In that instant, her stomach growled and Enjolras only chuckled. "Are you still sure?"

Éponine scowled at him. "You've paid for my ticket and drove us here, I think you've paid enough for me." Enjolras looked a little dumbfounded at her words. "I can pay for something myself," she finished indignantly.

Enjolras grimaced, "If you insist."

Éponine approached the counter and ordered herself a hot pretzel. She pulled her wristlet from her coat pocket and produced the credit card she had taken from Montparnasse. As soon as the woman behind the counter swiped it through, Éponine's heart sank at realization.

At the end of the month, they would get a statement in the mail showing the purchases from that month. Montparnasse would know she had been here. All of a sudden, Éponine could feel her world crumbling down. All the lies she had built up, suddenly were crashing before her eyes. She could feel the slaps and the hits she would no doubt receive once Montparnasse would know. And Enjolras. What would Montparnasse do to him once he found out about him? Éponine could just picture the swollen eye, the split lip, and the bruises that would coat that velvet skin of Enjolras' face.

"Éponine?" Enjolras' voice broke through her thoughts. He pointed to the woman waiting for Éponine to take the pretzel from her hand. Éponine blushed in embarrassment and quickly took it from her while Enjolras gathered his soda and popcorn. "Are you okay?" he asked as they began walking. "You suddenly look pale."

Éponine kept her gaze to the floor, muttering, "I shouldn't have come with you. I shouldn't be here right now. This was a mistake...a big mistake...I shouldn't have - "

"Hey, hey," he stated, cutting her off. "What are you talking about? We're going to have a good time. It wasn't a mistake. I wanted you to come with me tonight. C'mon, the game hasn't even started, you can't ditch me now!" He tried smiling to her, waiting for her to finally look up to him. "Look at me, Éponine," he demanded softly getting a little impatient. She looked up to him reluctantly but as soon as she was met with his wide and sincere smile, her worries seem to dissipate. "It's alright, everything will be fine."

And she believed him. Everything would be fine.

When they walked through the gates to the arena, Éponine's eyes filled with wonder. They held a beautiful sparkle in them that couldn't be extinguished no matter what could've befallen her at that moment. Enjolras could only gaze at her as she took in the beauty of it all. It was like watching a child on Christmas morning.

He led them to their seats as Éponine's eyes never left the beauty of the ice in front of them. Their seats were not close to the ice nor up really high, but somewhere in between. They sat on one of the short ends of the ice, giving them a good view from behind the goalie. Enjolras kept apologizing for the seats, saying how he wanted center ice seats but he could only afford so much on his bartender salary. But to Éponine, she couldn't have asked for a more spectacular view.

She smiled wide when Enjolras removed his coat to show off his Bruins jersey. And just as she remembered, the back held the number forty-six with the name of his favorite player above it: Krejci. "I like your jersey," she remarked with a smirk.

He smiled back to her, "I can get you one just like it. I saw them selling them - "

"No, it's alright," she chuckled. "When would I ever wear it?" she asked half jokingly and half serious.

"You could wear it if we ever went to a game again."

He watched Éponine's smile begin to fade into a look of shock. Her head turned away from him and back to the ice. "I think the game is going to start soon."

Enjolras frowned and he reminded himself, it was progress. At least he was doing something and this wasn't like what happened with Melénie. No, Éponine was not Melénie. And she would not end up like her, he was going to help her, and he was going to make sure _that_ never happened.

As the game started and the players took the ice, their previous conversation began to fall to the back of their minds. But it still took a while to get Éponine comfortable with him again. She sat very contentedly with her coat still on and hands holding her pretzel in the center of her lap. She wouldn't use her armrest and she leaned more to the man next to her, rather than to Enjolras. Enjolras knew it was odd behavior, but then again, he couldn't blame her.

By the second period, Éponine was standing with the crowd, cheering as her favorite player, Lucic, scored a goal against the Sabres' goalie, Hackett. She hollered, cheered and clapped her hands and Enjolras smiled as she finally looked happy. They bantered easily since she relaxed more, she would make witty remarks and he would dish it back out or pretend to be hurt by her comments to which she would laugh at him. But he noticed it was a genuine laugh, neither forced nor contrived. And for a second, he could pretend she was just another ordinary and happy girl.

The third period came with the score tied. Tensions were high on the ice as much as they were in the stands. One Bruins player was heading down the ice on a breakaway and as he was about to shoot, a Sabres player tripped him. Immediately, the Bruins player stood to his feet and decked the other player in the jaw. Éponine gasped along with the rest of the audience as the two players began to fight. But as the audience stood to their feet arguing, Éponine stayed seated with her hands over her mouth. Enjolras only noticed when she didn't stand up next to him. Slowly, he lowered himself down to her. "Éponine? Are you okay?"

"I just don't understand why they have to fight," she whispered.

His face lightened up a fraction as he sighed in sympathy for her. "They don't really mean it; it's just a rush of adrenaline. That doesn't make what they do okay, but it's not because they're bad people." He felt like a hypocrite, telling her than men who hit others weren't bad people. But he just wanted to comfort her, and words were the only way he could in that moment.

Éponine seemed to relax at his words and in only a short while, she was standing with the rest of the crowd waiting with bated breath for the last few seconds of the game. When the buzzer sounded with the score 4-3 and the Bruins leading, Éponine leaped up and down and hugged Enjolras.

But as soon as she felt the contact with him, she peeled herself away immediately. That was a mistake. _It was just a rush of adrenaline_, she reminded herself. She didn't mean to and thankfully, Enjolras didn't say anything to her about it as they filed out of their seats.

All she could do was talk adamantly about the game, her sentences ran together as she barely stopped to take a breath. All the while, Enjolras smiled to her, laughing, as he could only listen. They walked in the center of the crowd, being pushed and shoved along down the escalators. When they stepped off the escalators, that was when Éponine finally stopped talking.

Her mouth slammed shut, her feet stood frozen, and her eyes stared at something in the distance. Enjolras turned to look at her when he didn't hear her talking anymore and noticed she was a few paces behind. He shoved his way back to her.

"Éponine?" He approached her, noting her pale features. "What's wrong? You look like you saw a ghost?"

Her breaths became quick and shortened as she stared past him up ahead. Her hand shakily pointed to someone in up ahead. "That man."

Enjolras looked to where she was pointing and could only assume she was talking about a stout, gruff man who was standing in the distance looking at a table that was advertising season tickets. "Who is he?" he asked confused.

"His name is Brujon...he is Montparnasse's best friend." Her eyes finally wandered back to Enjolras' brimming with tears. "If he sees me here...with you...please, you can't let him see me."

Enjolras understood fully what it would mean if this man were to see Éponine. He knew they needed to walk past him though to get to the exit. But now it looked as if Brujon was talking with a consultant, there was no way he was leaving any time soon.

Quickly, Enjolras shrugged off his coat and placed it over Éponine's shoulder. "Your white coat sticks out," he explained. He reached his hand up to her hair but stopped himself. "Take your hair down." She did as he said. "Now stay close behind me."

Abruptly, Enjolras turned around, grabbing ahold of her arm and pulled her so she was flat up against his back. He kept his arm behind his back, never letting go of her and soon they began walking in the direction of the exit.

Éponine's heart was pounding in her chest. She kept her head down but as they got gradually closer to Brujon, she felt like her heart would explode. Added to this, the touch of Enjolras holding her arm felt electrifying. It felt wrong to be touched by any other man that wasn't Montparnasse. But as she tried to shift her arm a bit, he only held her more firmly. As if daring herself, Éponine lifted her gaze and watched as they passed Brujon. At any moment, he could turn around and catch her, yet he didn't.

Enjolras didn't let go of her until they were safe and out of the building. The crowd dispersed around them, giving much more walking space. Éponine took in a large breath relief at being unseen by Brujon but also at Enjolras finally letting go of her.

"Thank you," she breathed as she shed Enjolras' coat and handed it back to him.

Enjolras wanted to say it wasn't a problem, he wanted to say he would do anything to protect her, he wanted to say he would be there for her. But he had assumed for too long and now he wanted to hear her say it. His cold eyes gazed down at her as they stopped walking. "What would he have done, Éponine?"

"Excuse me?" she asked, obviously taken off guard by his question.

"Your husband. What would he have done if his friend saw you with me?" he clarified with ice in his voice.

"He...well...why are you asking me this?" she bit out.

"I want the truth, Éponine. I want you to tell me what he would've done to you."

Éponine crossed her arms over her chest, staring Enjolras harshly in the eye. "Just leave it alone."

"No. We're not leaving here until you tell me." He watched her bit her lower lip, fighting back her emotions. "You shouldn't have to run and hide from his friends. This isn't right. This isn't normal! You should be free to be friends with whoever you want - "

"I'm friends with you, isn't that enough?" she spit.

"Just tell me, Éponine. I want to know the truth." Again there was silence. She averted his gaze this time. "What would he do?" The anger was seeping into his voice the longer she stayed silent. "Would he hit you? Slap you? Call you names?" Her eyes darted to his abruptly as they turned menacing.

"Just stop," she seethed through gritted teeth.

"Does he kick you - "

"Stop it, Enjolras." She was having trouble holding back the tears that were threatening to fall.

"Just tell me what he does to you!" Her fingers clenched in fists and this time she closed her eyes, letting a few tears slip down her cheeks. "Fine!" he shouted, finally growing impatient with her silence. "Then tell me why you keep going back to him. Even when he hurts you, when he hits you, slaps you, kicks you, why do you go back? Why don't you just leave, Éponine!"

"Because I _love_ him!" she yelled out in a strangled cry.

Enjolras felt the words hit him like a bullet in the chest. The weight of everything finally crashing down, smothering him in the process. Éponine stalked off when he found no words to respond.

Though, he didn't let her get far. It took sometime, but he convinced her enough to let him drive her back to her car. She reluctantly obeyed him not saying a word but letting the awkward tension fill the silence for the long drive back.

...

It was late and the house was dark as Éponine walked inside. The living room was cloaked in darkness except for the single lamp in the corner. Underneath the lamp, Montparnasse sat in the armchair, about to get up seeing that Éponine was now home.

He hadn't even fully gotten out of the chair when Éponine ran across the room and flung herself into Montparnasse's arms. She hugged him tightly, burying her face in the crook of his neck as he finally stood erect. He was a little surprised at her forwardness and fondness and didn't respond to her hug immediately, but after a few moments seeing she still had not let go, Montparnasse wrapped his arms around her.

"I love you," she whispered into his neck.

A smile crossed his lips and he pulled her back from him a few inches. "Is everything alright, mon chouchou?"

Her eyes were wide, holding back so many emotions trying to get him to see without actually saying the words. "I just missed you," she breathed. She wanted to say so much more to him, but even more so, all she wanted was for Montparnasse to reassure her, to comfort her, and just say those three words back to her.

"Did something happen at 'Zelma's tonight?" he asked with a furrow of his brow.

Éponine paled, momentarily forgetting what she had told him of her whereabouts previously. Her face contorted into the beginnings of a sob but she swallowed it remembering how Montparnasse hates when she cries. All of a sudden, she didn't know if she could keep doing this. It seemed that everything Enjolras told her counteracted what she had believed for years. She didn't want to hear anymore of what Enjolras told her, she wanted to stay content and safe inside her world with Montparnasse. That was all she had known and that was enough for her. The only thing she needed to know was her love for Montparnasse and his reciprocated feelings for her. That was all she could ask for. Every other emotion just seemed to blur her mind, making her doubt what she had grown up believing for so long. "You love me, right?" she prompted.

His face lightened into a smile as he swooped down and picked her up. He gave her a kiss on her forehead. "What a silly thing to ask, of course I do."

Her face seemed to wash clean of any anxiety and fear in that moment. She smiled back up to him, wrapping her hands behind his neck and placing a gentle kiss on his lips. Those hurt and confusing feelings disappeared into the night, along with any remembrance of the horrible end of the night with Enjolras. And even though Montparnasse never said the words exactly, it was enough for her.

And all felt right again.


	12. Of Control and Crashing Glass

**A/N: Goodness, please don't hate me for taking so long. I really apologize, and I just will warn that I don't know when I'll update next, but I'm trying, I'm really trying...**

**And quickly for Just a Guest: Did you read my outline, girl? Or something? Haha! Well I promise all of your suspicions and questions, and lack of understanding will all be explained. I have a big plan for every aspect of this and I won't leave anything overlooked. Thanks again for your always detailed reviews! Love them and love you!**

**And thank you to everyone else for reading (if you're still reading that is...) and reviewing and following and favoriting. I will reply to your reviews as soon as possible. Thanks!**

**Warnings: Slight mentions of smut in the first scene. Not too graphic and it's very quick.**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 12 - Of Control and Crashing Glass

...

She felt warm, safe, secure, wrapped in the arms of the one she loved. She felt like nothing could harm her in this moment. That everything she did, she did for him. She lived for him and only him. That is what love can do to a person, but for Éponine, she wasn't complaining.

Her bare body was pressed against his, the two fitting together like jagged pieces in a puzzle. His strong arms were nestled around her, holding her back right against his chest. His fingers began to move from underneath her, slowly massaging her breast while his other hand on top of her, tucked itself farther between her legs.

Her eyes slowly opened feeling the little movements and she smiled contentedly. "Good morning," she whispered.

He nuzzled his nose in the back of her head, breathing in her scent. "Good morning," he responded in a hazy voice. "How do you feel?" he smirked.

Éponine shrugged against his bare chest. "Fine, a little stiff perhaps." Her voice was low, the drowsiness still evident.

"Well, maybe we'll just have to do _that_ again more often to keep you from getting stiff," he quipped as his teeth gently grazed the side of her neck.

Éponine made a movement to shift around and face Montparnasse, just to see his face and kiss his lips, but his muscles tightened around her, keeping her in position. She relented and sighed, still content to just lay in his arms while his fingers worked magically around her. And for a moment, her mind brought up the image of Enjolras and she wondered what it would feel like to be held in his arms. His build was much broader than Montparnasse's, with large hands and skin made of unscarred velvet. She wondered how his fingers would feel as they traced lines and patterns along her skin, touching the most intimate places.

"Whose are you, 'Ponine?" The question broke through her thoughts and she stilled. The fear sunk into her like a brick. It was as if he was reading her thoughts. The guilt of thinking of another man while in the embrace of the one she actually loved began to consume her slowly. His arms tugged her closer to him in her silence. "Whose are you?" he repeated.

"…I'm yours," she gaped out.

She could feel him nod against the back of her head and she knew she answered correctly. "And whose is this?" he asked as his right hand enveloped her breast and squeezed it strongly.

"…yours."

"And this?" he asked as his left hand pressed against her center. Not enough to penetrate, but firmly enough her moisten her from the inside.

"Yours," she answered resolutely. The confusion was there but she did not let it show in her voice.

"Good," he said, unwavering. "Just always remember that, 'Ponine." His voice died out and Éponine was unsure what to say to him. Then, he brought his lips closer to her ear and whispered, "...always remember that, mon chouchou."

...

The counter was made of marble, yet why he hit it, he didn't know. It seemed like a plausible solution to his building rage at the time, but the consequences hurt.

"Dammit!" Enjolras yelled, shaking his hand to try and relieve the pain.

"What the heck did you just do?" Combeferre's voice came through on the phone as Enjolras was now pacing through his kitchen wondering if he should grab ice for his hand or just let the pain wear off.

"Nothing," Enjolras finally muttered back into the receiver. "I just don't understand why I keep screwing these things up. But I just don't get it. I just don't get her."

"Enjolras," Combeferre sighed on the other end. "She told you she loved him?" he asked, clarifying.

"Yes, and I just don't understand how she could still love someone who does that to her."

"It's more than that Enjolras, it's the psychology behind it all. You don't know her past, or her history with men. You know, one in four woman are victims of domestic violence - "

"She's not just some statistic, Ferre," Enjolras deadpanned.

Combeferre took in a deep breath. "I was just trying to say that you need to know all the facts about this, Enjolras. You can't just go into this situation blind. When Melénie - "

"Don't bring her up," he responded icily.

"Look, you said Éponine was just like her, so I'm just trying to say that you don't want her to end up like Melénie. You _need_ to go about this correctly."

Enjolras sighed, falling against the counter. "So what do I do?"

"Well first off, you can't just go and yell at her next time she tells you something about her husband! You do that again and she'll shut you out completely. She is just going to close up and she _is_ going to run."

"...right."

"It would probably do you some good to understand her situation more. Sit with her, and talk _gently_; get _her_ to open up to _you_. You can't force these things. She probably is most comfortable with you and I bet if you coaxed her a little, she'll open up and she'll tell you more about her relationship. And you know, some research on domestic violence wouldn't hurt either."

Enjolras couldn't help the bitter chuckle that rose in the back of his throat. He'd been blind to forget about research. God knew he spent the better half of his school years researching anything and everything. "Yeah, I can do that. But shouldn't I call someone, or call the police if I know it's happening."

Combeferre stayed silent for a moment. "That's your call, Enjolras. But the thing is, she's not going to accept help until she wants it. And judging by everything you told me, she's not ready for help, she probably doesn't even know she needs it."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, maybe she doesn't know she's in a textbook abusive relationship."

"But how could she not know, Ferre? C'mon it's obvious - "

"To you maybe, but you don't know what's going on in her head."

"...okay. How do you know so much about this, by the way?"

Combeferre was silent a moment longer. "I had a patient one year, cute kid. His mom used to bring him in, and there was something about the way she talked, she was always nervous and the kid was always covered in bruises. You just knew."

"Did you call someone? Get them help?"

"They moved before it was time for their third visit. I didn't have any evidence, but I was doing my research..." his voice became distant until he finally trailed off. "Does Éponine have kids?"

"I don't think so. She's never mentioned it, if she does."

"Okay, good. That at least makes things easier."

"Right...well, Ferre, how about if I invite her over for dinner? We can just talk and I can apologize for being a jerk?"

If Enjolras could see Combeferre at that moment, he would've seen him grimace at the thought of him having dinner with her. "Just be careful," was all he finally said. "You don't want to make things messier than they already are."

"You know me, I will be," he smiled.

So that is what Enjolras did. The following day, he drove to her job and asked her to have dinner with him the following night.

Éponine was a little reluctant at first, but finally she agreed. She didn't dare say that she would need to ask her husband first, and sure enough she didn't tell Enjolras that she would need to lie to him just so she could even leave the house. But she agreed and that was all that mattered. Now she just had to break the news to Montparnasse.

...

It was the sounds of the waves crashing against the pier. The murmurs of people innocently chattering around them. The blue sky with the puffy white clouds hiding some of the sun. The chilled air that left the tips of their noses red and little wisps of smoke as they talked. The smell of ocean mixed with their fresh fish sandwiches.

Montparnasse and Éponine began their walk across the Old Northern Avenue Bridge side by side with their lunch in hand. It had become a tradition that on some weekends, the couple would drive the short drive into the city, park their car, and take a walk across the bridge to The Barking Crab restaurant. There, Montparnasse would order two Halibut Fish Sandwiches to go and they would eat it as they walked back across the bridge to their car. Éponine enjoyed everything about these walks. She always thought of it as her time with Montparnasse; her tradition. She enjoyed the breeze that rolled from the waves, she enjoyed watching the tourists walk aimlessly, she loved the innocent conversation with her husband, she could honestly say she enjoyed all of it, except her Halibut Fish Sandwich.

The first time they started this tradition, Montparnasse ordered the Halibut saying it was his favorite to which she claimed to never have eaten it before. So, Montparnasse ordered one for each of them and when he watched her take her first bite, she nearly choked on the taste alone. Kindly, she told him it was good, but not something she really liked. She said that next time she would prefer to get a Lobster Roll instead. Montparnasse's only reply was a scowl and a curt, "You'll learn to like it." From that day on, every time they took a lunch walk across the bridge, Montparnasse always ordered two Halibut sandwiches and Éponine always had to eat it.

They walked silently along the pier now, each holding their container of food and eating. Éponine forced a swallow of the sandwich, trying to hide her grimace as she did so. "How is your sandwich?" she asked, taking a break from eating.

"Delicious, as always. And yours?"

"Good," she lied. That was the most she could ever say about it. They strolled along for a few more paces when Éponine broke the silence again. "So, um…you know Azelma called me yester - "

"Excuse me, excuse me," a voice said to her. Éponine turned around abruptly, seeing that the source of the voice had also grasped her arm. The voice belonged to a young boy, probably a college student. He let go immediately, seeing that he now had her attention. He couldn't have been much younger than her with striking features and straight blonde hair. His friend stood next to him with the same platinum blonde hair. They both held the same worried gaze in their eyes as they gripped their backpacks and a tourist's map to the city of Boston. Everything about them screamed tourist. "_Unnskyld meg_, you know where...Faneuil Hall?"

Éponine smiled kindly as she took a step toward them. Montparnasse scowled at both of them while he stayed a step behind and watched them intently. "Oh, you boys are heading the wrong way," she chuckled. "Basically, you're gonna want to head this way," she pointed in the direction her and Montparnasse were heading, "over the bridge to Atlantic Ave. Then head right and continue to Broad Street. Then, you're gonna take Broad street all the way down until you get to State Street, then turn left on Merchants Row and Faneuil Hall will be all the way down that street. Okay?" The two boys looked at each other and then back to her a little confused. Éponine just smiled again, "You're not from around here, are you?"

"We're students," one of the boys chimed in. "We're studying abroad."

"Oh," Éponine said excitedly, "what country are you from? I can't place your accent."

"Norway," the same boy responded. "We go to school at Harvard. And we want to visit Boston City."

"Wow, how nice. I hope you're having a good time."

"Everyone seems nice," the first boy said.

"Have you taken any boat cruises, or seen the Harbor?" she grinned enthusiastically.

"We went on a..." the one turned to his friend, "..._en båt formet_..._å kalle_..."

His friend looked puzzled for a moment then turned back to Éponine. "A duck tour!" he smiled.

"Oh yes!" she beamed. "Those are always so much fun. Everyone always looks like they're having a good time when I see them." She looked down at the map in their hands and suddenly remembered about giving them directions. She turned to Montparnasse and placed her container of her barely eaten sandwich into his hands. "Hold this for me?" she told more than asked. He reluctantly grabbed the container from her while giving her the most scornful disdain his features would allow. She then stood next to the boys and grabbed the map from their hands. Opening it up, she pointed out the streets they needed to walk in order to get them to Faneuil Hall while making sure they were paying careful attention.

"_Tusen takk!_ ...thank you!" the boys agreed before parting ways from Éponine and Montparnasse and continuing on.

Once the boys were up a ways ahead, Montparnasse shoved her food back into her own hands. Éponine didn't think much of it, but smiled to herself thinking of that faraway place that was Norway as they continued walking. Again, it was one of those places she could only dream about. She wondered what the cold and brisk air would feel like there. Could it possibly feel the same as the cold air in Boston? "Isn't that so nice, 'Parnasse? They're studying abroad from Norway. What a wonderful opportunity."

She waited for him to answer but Montparnasse only ignored her as he took the last bite of his sandwich.

"I said isn't that nice - "

"I heard you," he snapped.

"Oh," she said dumbly. Her eyes gazed up to his cold ones that only stared straight ahead. "What is it? Did I do something?" she asked noting his sudden contempt.

"You're such a slut, Éponine," he hissed. "God, I was standing right there and you have the nerve to flirt right in front of me? What the hell is wrong with you?"

She barely flinched at his words, but they still stung. The anger rose inside of her as she suddenly needed to justify the situation. He had gotten it all wrong. "I wasn't flirting with them!" she retorted. "I was only giving them directions."

"Don't yell at me!" he sternly shouted as he grabbed her upper arm and forced her to face him. The container of food trembled in her hands as he shook her and a few of the french fries fell to the ground. "You think I'm stupid? You think I can't see with my own eyes what you were doing?" Roughly, he shoved her backwards making her trip over her feet.

She didn't fall completely, but righted herself back up. She was thankful that they were out in public right now; shoving her would be the worst he could do. "No, you're not stupid. I swear, I wasn't flirting, I was making innocent conversation!"

His teeth gritted together as he set his jaw. He approached her in two steps, looming over her. He bent his head down so his mouth was right next to her ear. His voice was a deadly, challenging whisper, "So help me, Éponine, if I ever catch you flirting with another man again...I'll slit your throat." Éponine gulped at the sound of his threat. "And I keep my word," he added menacingly before backing off and stalking away, leaving Éponine to follow him.

Their lunch had quickly ended at that point as they silently walked until they climbed back into his car. When the silence had bloomed enough and they were now nearing home, Éponine decided to bring up "Azelma" again.

"So I was talking to Azelma yesterday while I was at work..." She tested his reaction, and seeing none, she continued, "...she called on my work phone and we got to talking. So, we made plans to have dinner tonight. I wanted to know if that would be okay with you."

He pulled the car in front of the house and shut it off curtly. "No," he stated simply, yanking the key from the ignition.

"No?" she asked incredulously. "But I already made plans..."

"No! You're not going." He pushed open the car door and stepped out. Éponine clambered to follow him as she nearly ran to catch up with him to the front door.

"Please, 'Parnasse it's only for a few hours. Why not?"

He unlocked the door and stepped inside, not turning to face her. "I don't need to give you a reason. You're not going, and that's final."

"I just don't understand. Please, 'Parnasse? Just let me go!"

Montparnasse turned around abruptly, anger seething in his eyes. He swiftly grabbed a handful of her hair and pinned her to the wall in the foyer of the house. "What is so wrong with you, 'Ponine? You flirt with another man in front of me today and now you continue to pester me to go to your stupid sister's house after I've told you no! Does my authority as head of this household mean nothing to you?" He pulled her head forward just to slam it back against the wall. "I don't get it 'Ponine, why do you have to provoke me until I have you hanging by your hair against the wall?!"

"I d-don't know..." she whispered. She could feel the water welling up in the back of her eyes, threatening to spill at any moment. Her throat constricted as she tried to fight back the tears.

"You don't know? You don't know! You're so stupid, 'Ponine! You can't even answer a damn question." He tugged her hair higher until she stood on her toes.

"I'm sorry," she let out in a sob.

He threw her to the ground, letting her hair splatter all over herself. "Shut up!" he yelled. Éponine took in a large breath and held it. He thrust his foot into her ribs for good measure causing her to release her breath, yet she made no sound. He hated crying.

Montparnasse brushed himself off, slipped his coat off his shoulders and delicately placed it onto the hook by the door before he simply walked away.

That night, Éponine slid herself into the bathroom with the cordless house phone while Montparnasse was watching a movie. Quickly, she dialed Enjolras' number - which she memorized so she could throw away the evidence of it - and when his silk voice answered with a "Hello?", she simply responded with, "I can't come," and hung up.

...

Montparnasse had grown much colder over the course of the next week. Every time she asked if she could leave the house to do something she was met with a stern "No" from him. She tried all sorts of lies, her favorite being that she needed to go to the store to buy feminine products to which Montparnasse kindly escorted her to the store and walked with her while she went to buy them. All of this even meant no trips to the bar since she couldn't find the time to break away from Montparnasse. So how she ended up right in front of Enjolras' apartment door about to ring the doorbell, was beyond her.

It was a Wednesday night and Éponine knew that Montparnasse would be getting home by 6:30. So, when she got home at 5:00, she made him dinner, left it warming on the stove, and left a note saying that she went to Azelma's and that she would be back later. She knew the heaps of trouble she would be in for leaving a note and not asking permission first, but having to cancel on Enjolras for the past week, she felt as if she owed him. All he wanted was to make up for being a jerk to her that one night at the hockey game, and he was her friend, she had to find a way to take up his dinner offer somehow.

Her shaky fingers pressed the doorbell and she could feel the nerves shoot through her, raising the hair on her arms and making her pulse race. But when Enjolras' soft eyes answered the door, she immediately felt the anxiety ebb away.

"Hey! I'm so glad you were able to make it. Come in, come in, you look frozen." He made a path for her to walk inside and she tentatively took a step in, remembering that the last time she was here, Enjolras' friend was pulling glass from her cheek. "Let me take your coat," he suggested as he waited for her to take off her signature white pea coat. He placed it over the back of the dining room chair that wasn't too far off and watched as Éponine stood uncomfortable in the center of the apartment caught between the kitchen and the dining area. "Make yourself at home," he prompted to which she took a shy seat at the island counter. "I...uh...I hope it wan't much of a problem for you to get here tonight."

Éponine looked down at her hands as she twirled her wedding ring around her finger. "You have no idea..." she muttered.

Enjolras had meant the comment in regards to traffic and the weather but now he realized how wrong that statement was to make. He cleared his throat as he stood opposite her over the island counter. "I hope you like lobster cause I made Lobster Primavera for dinner."

Éponine's face turned shocked, "Oh, you didn't need to go through all that trouble for me. Really, chicken or something would've been just fine."

"Really, it's not a problem. I like to cook," he smiled.

"Well, it smells wonderful." Enjolras saw the hint of a real smile tugging on her lips which made his heart leap.

The conversation innocently progressed as Enjolras began to get dinner served on the table and pour two glasses of wine for himself and Éponine.

"I heard it was going to snow tonight," he said as he scooped up a ladle full of linguini and placed it on Éponine's plate.

"Either tonight of tomorrow, I heard."

"Well, we're only a week away from December, seems pretty early for snow to me." He began serving the vegetables before he graciously refilled her glass of red Merlot.

"Makes me wonder if we're going to have a white Christmas this year."

"You celebrate Christmas?"

Éponine grimaced a bit as she swirled her fresh glass of wine around in the glass. "Not really. Growing up my father always told me that God was dead. I think he was just a skeptic really, but still we never went to church or celebrated holidays religiously. I learned to not really mind, it's not like we had money for presents anyway."

Enjolras only nodded, intent on listening to her. "And what about now? Do you celebrate it?"

"Can't say we do. No tree, no presents. Montparnasse was always the type to get me a gift because he felt like it, not because he was obligated to. Plus, he never really liked Christmas. I don't know why...he believes in God and what the Bible says...but he just - he just doesn't like holidays or Christmas for that matter."

"But do you like Christmas?"

Éponine smiled, lost again in some long ago memory. She leaned forward in her chair to place her glass down. "When I was little, whenever it snowed the first snow of the season, me, my sister, and my brother, we'd escape out of the house once it'd get really dark outside. Then we'd walk along the streets and admire the lights. The houses would light up in all these beautiful colors and the white snow would look as if someone painted it. I swear it was like looking at the northern lights right here in Boston. That's what I like."

Enjolras could feel his lips turn upwards as she spoke. He wanted to tell her that her words were beautiful, that she could speak with such an allure. He wanted to tell her that he was lost just listening to her. Yet all he could manage to say was, "So you have a brother too?"

She nodded, before taking another bite of the pasta. "Yes," she said, swallowing. "He is eight years younger than me. He's actually living in New Hampshire currently."

"Oh? Why is that?"

Éponine looked away from Enjolras gaze, as if she was hiding something. "He goes to school up there. Just started his first year of college, actually."

"Well, that's nice."

"Yes, I suppose it is."

...

It didn't take long for the conversation to begin to pick up and when Éponine finally relaxed, she felt more comfortable to be herself. Soon, she found herself laughing along with Enjolras, telling stories and lame jokes. And though they didn't talk about anything of consequence, they were both learning more and more about each other with each word.

"No, no, I'm dead serious," Enjolras was saying, wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes. "I got arrested."

"I still don't believe you!" she chuckled.

"It's true! 'Course it was only for a day, but it was back when I was a freshman in college. A bunch of my friends started a revolt against the school, that I _may_ have led," he winked. "Well, we were planning to move our rally to City Hall but the police arrived and things just got messy. Though in all honesty, it _was_ Marius' fault. If he didn't threaten to blow up - "

"Wait, Marius?"

"Yes," Enjolras said, furrowing his brow at her interruption.

"As in _Marius Pontmercy_?"

"The very one."

"Oh God..." Éponine sighed with a smile. She buried her face in her hands and laughed. Her laugh was genuine and soon she let go of her face, tossing her head back and laughing louder.

"What's so funny?"

"Marius. Remember when I told you I was infatuated with a boy in high school?" Enjolras nodded. "Well, his name was Marius Pontmercy, and I'm afraid there is only one Marius Pontmercy living in Boston..."

Enjolras let out a large belly laugh to accompany hers. "I can't believe we both know Pontmercy..." he said when he could finally catch his breath.

"Yes...and that revolt of yours, would you believe I was there?"

"What?"

"I swear." Her voice became solemn the more she spoke. "I was trying to convince Marius that it wasn't a good idea to be there...he could get himself killed, or something. But I went with him because I thought I could protect him. But I guess everything has worked out in the end, anyway," she finished, putting on a smile.

Enjolras fell quieter. "I guess it has."

"He married that blonde girl, Cosette, right?" Enjolras nodded "I heard they were doing good together. And I married Montparnasse, so see, it's all worked out."

Enjolras stood from his chair and began stacking the dirty plates. He wasn't mad but he just had no reply to her last comment. There was nothing to say, after all.

Immediately, Éponine rose to her feet as well. "Oh here, let me help you with that."

Enjolras only nodded and decided to switch the topic. "So tell me more about your siblings? What was it like when you were little? We're you always getting into trouble?" he teased as he gathered up the dishes and crossed to the sink.

Éponine followed behind him holding the bowl of linguini and placed it on the counter next to him. She was quiet for a bit before she finally let herself smile. If Enjolras noticed her hesitation, he didn't say anything. "Yes, we were always getting into trouble. My brother, he was the real mischievous one." She crossed back to the dining table to fetch her glass of wine while Enjolras turned on the tap to begin scrubbing the dishes.

"Oh yeah?" he asked, throwing a smirk to her over his shoulder. "What kinda stuff did he do?"

Éponine stole a sip of her wine as she crossed the room and leaned against the island counter. She placed her glass down, preparing to tell her story. "Well," she began. "One day, I think he must've been in second grade or something. Well anyway, I was picking him up from school." Enjolras kept his hands in the sink as he turned his body to watch her, sensing the building grin that was appearing on her face. Her hands were moving wildly as she talked, getting more excited with each word for her story. "He come running out of the building carrying this huge - "

_CRASH!_

Her arm swept across the counter as she had gestured causing her to hit into the wine glass and knock it off the counter. The glass shattered against the linoleum leaving a bloodied trail of red wine across the kitchen tiles and part on the connecting carpeted dining area. Glass shards was strewn everywhere along the floor.

Enjolras' face fell devoid of his smile and Éponine could feel her heart drop.


	13. Of Finding Comfort

**A/N: Longest chapter ever. But I've been waiting for this one forever, and I hope you like it as much as I do. Please enjoy and let me know what you're thinking. This is where the story really takes an in-depth turn. **

**To Just a Guest: You are such a doll! Thanks very much! I will try to have more Combeferre words of wisdom...he is the reason Enjolras needs. Yet Enjolras' ignorance is for a reason, and I hope you understand that, Enjolras needs to learn with the audience. And you are right to fear the worst. Because you just know it's coming. And this chapter just solidifies that. Hehe, now get reading before I drop some more hints! (PS: still hoping for you to get an account one day!)**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Les Mis, just to say, nor do I own Oliver!**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 13 - Of Finding Comfort

...

The moment was so fragile, it could shatter with the slightest wind. Éponine just stared at Enjolras with her wide and terrified eyes, she was too scared to even move a muscle. She was a deer, a graceful creature frozen in the headlights and just awaiting its impending doom.

Before Enjolras could even pull his hands out of the sink, Éponine dropped to her knees with a loud thud, not caring if she even cracked her kneecaps in the process. Swiftly, her hands expertly worked to pick up all the pieces as she began piling them in her hand.

Enjolras was in front of her in the next moment, holding a hand out to her as if to push her back without touching her. "Back up, Éponine," he said sternly, focusing on the pile of the broken glass littered all over the floor.

She didn't stop what she was doing as she blankly stared at her working hands. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," she muttered in a daze.

Enjolras' first thought was to pull the dustpan and the hand broom from under the sink and sweep up the shards. So he got up to get it and brought it over to the fallen glass, now sweeping it up on his hands and knees as well. "Don't worry, drop the glass, I'll take care of it," he told her, still not looking in her direction.

She wished that for a moment he would look up to her, just so she could see his eyes, read his expression and know what he was truly going to do when he finished cleaning it up. But Éponine did just as he said and let go of the pile of glass she had collected.

"Back up," he told her again, "you'll cut yourself."

Reluctantly, she stood to her feet and took a step backwards. Her eyes never left his movements as she stood silently, with her arms wrapped around herself in anticipation. She wanted to burst into tears, she knew she could at any moment, but she stayed strong. She knew her punishment for her stupidity would be coming. She _knew_ it and she was nervous. This would be the first time Enjolras would punish her. So, she refused to let her emotions show, she was going to accept her punishment with dignity, and she was going to show Enjolras just how strong she was.

She watched him sweep up the last of the glass and then toss it in the trash can. Then she watched him spray the floor with a cleaning solution before he wiped up the spilled wine. He took a different cleaning product and sprayed it on the reddened carpet, placing a towel over it afterwards. When he was finally finished, he stood back to his feet and turned his gaze up to Éponine.

His brow furrowed when he finally looked at her. "What are you doing?" he asked, not trying to sound harsh at all, but instead just bewildered. She was standing now with her hands clasped together, arms crossed over each other, and her eyes staring straight at the floor. He just didn't get it; she looked petrified.

Slowly, she unclasped her hands and tucked her fallen hair behind her ear to expose her cheek. She tilted her head upwards a little and turned her face slightly left as she still gazed at the floor. Her heart was hammering like thunder, but she couldn't help it, she was just so anxious for what was to come. However she pushed aside her anxiety remembering that she deserved it. _She_ broke _his_ glass. Éponine only hoped that this wouldn't interfere with their friendship and soon she found herself praying to just get her punishment over with. "I accept whatever it is you want to do to me," she said mechanically.

Enjolras wrinkled his brow some more and took a step forward, he noticed her flinch as he did so. "What?" he asked incredulously.

"I accept my punishment," she clarified.

"Your _punishment_?" he repeated.

Her eyes flickered to his momentarily in confusion before they dropped to the floor once again and she nodded. "Yes. I broke your glass, I spilled your wine, and I stained the carpet. I deserve to be punished for it." Her hand shakily brushed her hair behind her ear and she titled her cheek toward him again as if implying a slap.

Enjolras' confused expression was then replaced with realization. His heart lurched in his chest, "Éponine," he said cautiously as he took a shy step toward her, "I'm offended you think I would hurt you."

It was as if those words were the trigger and her strong façade dissipated that instant. Her face crumpled into tears and she hugged her arms around herself again. "Now I've offended you too?" she sobbed.

Quickly, Enjolras closed the distance between them and wrapped her into his chest, rocking her back and forth ever so slightly. "Shh...hey, hey," he breathed. Suddenly, he regretted every word that came out of his mouth prior, he was only making the situation worse and he didn't even realize.

She pulled back from him but he still kept her in his arms. Her voice echoed as another heavy sob escaped her lips. She regained her voice enough to speak, "Please punish me, Enjolras, I have wronged you too much tonight. Please, Enjolras," she begged.

It was then that Enjolras understood the full weight of everything she was dealing with. This was all the confirmation he needed now - as if he wasn't sure before - that she was in a domestic violence relationship. She was _actually_ asking him to hit her now. He didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to help her, how to make her see how wrong her thinking was. His only response was pulling her back into him and resting her head against his chest. "I'm not going to punish you," he whispered, choking over the word "punish."

"But why not? I deserve it, I _need_ to be punished."

Enjolras closed his eyes as his grip on her tightened. Her words made him want to vomit. How could she honestly believe this? Even more so, how dare anyone make her believe this. "Why would you think you need to be punished?" he couldn't help but ask.

She took in a ragged breath. "That is how it's supposed to be. If I am not punished, how will I ever learn?" she easily answered.

She was like a child, one so lost and confused thinking that she can only learn if she receives punishment for her actions. Yet here she was, a grown woman of twenty-six years with the same mentality. It sickened him to the core. "No, Éponine...no..." he sighed. "You've got it all wrong...this was an accident. You didn't mean to break the glass, you don't deserved to be punished for this."

Éponine gazed up to him with the most amount of confusion she had. It was like he was speaking another language, it was like the concept was foreign to her. "An accident?" she repeated.

"Yes, an _accident_. I'm not mad at you. You think I would really get upset about a stupid glass?"

The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried to comprehend his words. She didn't even know what to feel at this moment; she felt like she was feeling every emotion at once. The moments droned on and the agony enhanced until she did the one thing she knew how to do. She buried her face back into Enjolras' chest, grabbing the back of his shirt in fistfuls. Her face twisted into an involuntary smile. "Please..." she whispered.

He only responded by resting his cheek on the top of her head. She was still begging him to punish her. It was the only thing she knew, that was her normality.

Her fingers released his shirt and trembled down to the front of his jeans. Her thumbs began to fidget with his buckle. "You can use the belt," she said timidly.

Enjolras snapped. He grabbed her wrists, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "No, Éponine!" His eyes closed in frustration. "No!" he resolutely said again. In the next moment, he let go of her hand and wrapped his own around her back as he led her over to the couch. He sat her down as he clasped her hands again, softly this time, and sat beside her. His thumbs began circling the tops of her trembling hands. "I am _not_. Going. To. Hurt. You," he said enunciating every word just to make sure she understood.

She shook her head, closing her eyes and letting a few more tears slip down her cheeks. "I don't understand...why not?"

"Because it was an accident, Éponine!"

"There are no accidents, Enjolras, there is only stupidity," she responded, quoting what she always grew up believing. This is what her father always told her and this is what Montparnasse reinforced.

Enjolras stilled for a moment. "It _was_ an accident! And even if it wasn't, you don't deserve to be punished for it. I don't know what your husband has made you think...he's brainwashed you, for Christ's sake! Montparnasse is wrong, everything he has told you is _wrong_!"

Éponine stared intently into Enjolras' eyes. His blue pupils were seething with anger, but _he_ was the one who didn't understand, not her. She pulled her hands from his grasp and wrapped her arms around herself, taking in his words.

"That's a lie," she stated quietly and solemnly. "Montparnasse is not wrong and he is not the only one," she muttered. Her voice was a large contrast compared to Enjolras' booming one.

Yet he lowered his volume and leaned in closer to her. "What do you mean?"

She took in a shaky breath and looked down at her lap. Yes, she was going to make Enjolras understand. "My father taught me..." she began, but soon lost her voice. Taking in another breath she tried again, "My father always taught me...since I was little...he said that 'Men are responsible for women. It is their duty as a husband and a father to raise them correctly.' He said, 'Woman are stupid' and the only way they will do things right, is if they are taught. 'Punishments teach them and reinforce their place.' That's what he always said."

Enjolras looked disgusted by her words. "Epon - "

"But it was not only my father...his friends were the same way...every man I've ever known agrees with those words _and_ enforces them. Montparnasse even showed me it's the same way in the Bible. God made _man_ before the woman. It says, 'the head of a woman is the man.' Women are to 'learn in _silence_ with full _submissiveness_.' * This is the way things are. I don't know why you're different, Enjolras, but you have to accept it."

"No, Éponine...no, you've got it all wrong - "

"Yes! Enjolras! This is the way things are!" She lifted her eyes to his finally and held his gaze. It was only for a few seconds, granted - she knew not to look a man in the eye for too long - but it was enough to show him her seriousness. "This is how things have been since I was little. My father always scolded my siblings and I when we'd speak out of turn, he taught us that _this_ is how it works." She paused, waiting to see if Enjolras would cut her off again, but he didn't so she took this as her opportunity to elaborate on her home life. "I was the eldest, so I always received the brunt of the punishments. But I did it to protect them also...Gavroche was so little..." she trailed off. "I didn't want to see him punished so much...sometimes it got out of hand. But everything I got, I _deserved_. I used to like and test my dad, I always liked to talk back..._I_ always wanted the final word." She let out a bitter chuckle at the memory. "So I deserved the punishments for it, I know that. You see, I was stupid. I didn't realize - until very recently - that if you don't talk back, they don't hit you as hard. And so, I used to provoke everyone. I used to make them so mad...my dad loved to use the belt...that was his favorite. But sometimes he'd even let me choose," she tried to smile at that line but she couldn't completely. "But he used all sorts of things...the belt, his hand, any metal cooking utensils, pans, a wrench once. Sometimes he'd use cigarette burns, or he'd make us stick our hands in hot water. And then, when he was done with the punishment...whatever it was that day..." She swallowed her words and forced herself to say the next ones. "...and he would go to walk away, I always had to say something. I don't know why," she said as another tear cascaded over her eyelid. "I don't know why, but I felt like I had to. Then he'd get all mad again...and that's when he'd get the box of rice."

Enjolras gave her a confused look as he reached out to brush the tears from her cheek with his thumb. She caught his expression and explained, "He'd pour it on the ground in the kitchen and then he'd make me either take my pants off or roll them up and then...then he'd make me kneel in it. It was usually for a half hour...but sometimes he'd forget...but always by the end of it, my knees were a bloody mess. It was only then that I'd stop talking."

She knew her past was embarrassing. She knew she never acted the way a "good girl" was supposed to act. She knew it was embarrassing to say how she got punished because she never learned quick enough. She knew she was stupid. Yet, why she was telling Enjolras all of this, she didn't know.

He wanted to console her, do something - anything - to take away the demons of her past, make it all go away, but he couldn't find a way to do that. Instead, he only stared at her, having no words to say to her, but what do you say to a person who confesses their darkest past to you?

"My mom got hit too," she offered. "My dad used to beat on her a lot...he said she needed her punishments too. My mom liked to argue, that was the only thing she was good at, other than that she was 'lazy' - as my dad said - and he couldn't stand it. And the times when my dad wasn't home, my mom would take care of our punishments. Once, my dad walked in on her punishing me cause I stole some food before dinner or something like that, she was using the wooden spoon. Well, then he yelled at her and said she wasn't doing it right; he said she was 'so stupid' she couldn't even punish right. Well he took over then...and...well...I just always preferred when mom punished me...it hurt less. And my dad was never afraid to let his friends give us a smack if we ever disrespected them. But it made sense...because a man is the one who _teaches_ a woman - "

"Éponine," Enjolras finally stated, closing his eyes in concentration. His lip looked like it was about to tremble and she realized she didn't know what he was going to say to her. Honestly, she had just been rambling again, she didn't even give spilling her secrets to Enjolras a second thought. Suddenly she paled. "Éponine," he said again upon opening his eyes. His voice wasn't judgmental or commanding, but it was firm in understanding, like he was trying to put together all the pieces. "You were abused?"

"_Abused?"_ she repeated. "Not at all."

Enjolras fists clenched together tightly. His anger was building again. But he took in a calming breath, remembering Combeferre's words, _"You can't just go and yell at her next time she tells you something...You do that again and she'll shut you out completely."_

"How can you tell me your dad used to beat you like that and then tell me you weren't abused?" he let out a little tersely.

"Abuse is when you hit or scold someone for something with no reason. In my case, there was always a reason, Enjolras. It was my own fault that I got hit, it was my punishment. I was _not_ abused."

He clasped her hands again suddenly which we now folded in her lap. "It doesn't matter if there is a reason or not, abuse is _any_ maltreatment or cruelty of a spouse or a child or even an animal. Yes, Éponine, there is discipline - a spank to a child for doing something wrong - but continual punishments past childhood, _that_ is abuse."

Éponine's face twisted into a million different expressions as if trying to be shocked or horrified. "You're wrong, Enjolras. It is not only my father who feels this way. All of his friends are the same...Brujon, Babet, Claquesous...and even Montparnasse. _All_ men are like this." Her voice began to raise the more she started to panic from his words. "I know this! I've learned this! I belong to Montparnasse, I am his. This is how _all_ men are."

He gave her hands a shake. "No, they aren't. You are just unfortunate enough to not know any good men. Everything Montparnasse has told you about the bible is a lie, Éponine. You are your own person, you don't belong to him. And it is not the responsibility of a man to teach a woman. These are _bad_ men, _Éponine_, everything they have told you is a lie! Women are not stupid, they do not need to be taught their place. It's all a lie."

Éponine just sat, closing her eyes and shaking her head. "No, Enjolras, no, no...you can't just say things like that! That isn't true! It's not true!" She pulled her hands from Enjolras' once again and wrapped them around herself. She kept her eyes shut tightly, shaking her head, and rocking back and forth slightly. Why was he saying these things to her? Why was he making her question everything she has grown up believing? Montparnasse was a good man. He did what he did _for_ her. Her life was normal, there was nothing wrong with her, or Montparnasse, or her marriage. It was all normal, and Montparnasse was good. "It's not true, it's not true," she kept muttering.

Enjolras didn't know what to do with her. But he didn't blame her for acting this way, she was completely messed up. Her thoughts were so inverted she barely knew the difference between what was right and what was wrong. Slowly, he reached his hands out and gently grabbed her wrists, trying to pull them away from herself. This was unusual, he didn't yell at her this time, but she still was shutting him out. She was closing herself up, going into some sort of shock or a denial. This time is wasn't the way he was speaking that triggered this reaction, it was the words itself.

"It's not true, it's not true. 'Parnasse is a good man, 'Parnasse loves me...he loves me...he only wants what's best for me...it's not true..."

"Shh..." he tried, after giving up trying to pry her arms away from herself. Enjolras took ahold of her completely and rested her against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her and just held her. "Shh..." he whispered again. He rocked with her motions and just waited for her to calm down. He waited for her to come out of whatever state this was. He just wanted the Éponine he knew back. Tenderly, he ran his warm hand up and down the sleeve of her arm. She stopped muttering now and he knew she was close to being finished.

He waited out a few more seconds, until her gaze finally lifted and met his. "I'm sorry," she whispered, holding back a cry.

"It's okay," he responded kindly. He picked her up off his chest. "I'm sorry too, I didn't mean to upset you." He didn't know what to do or what to say to her. He wanted to make her believe in the truth, but she wouldn't accept it. After a long silence, he smiled sweetly to her, "Come now, why don't you pick out a movie you'd like to watch? I've got a nice collection in the cabinet by the television. Just pick one out and I'll make us some hot chocolate, okay?"

Éponine bit her lip and looked away. "I don't want any hot chocolate," she said softly.

"You don't like it? I can make something else - "

"No, no...it's not that. It's just...I don't trust myself...what if I drop it?"

Enjolras gave her the same warm smile as his hand stroked her knee tenderly. "Then I'll clean it up, make you another, and that will be the end of it."

...

It was nearing 7:30 when he arrived home. He was a bit later than expected but that was only due to his meeting running late; he knew Éponine would understand.

He grabbed the mail from the mailbox on his way in and stood in the light of the foyer to glance through it. His eyes stopped on his American Express Credit Card bill. He thumbed it open and read through it to make sure everything was in order. He had to call them the other day about a double charged purchase and he mistakenly left that card in his front pocket. He hadn't seen that card since Éponine did laundry and he had been meaning to ask her if she'd seen it.

As he scanned down the purchases, it appeared they cleared everything up and only charged him once for the purchase. About to close the letter, something else caught his attention. A charge was made for four dollars at the address of "100 Legends Way, Boston, MA, 02114." What could possibly have been charged there? Legends Way? That was in Northwest Boston; in the West End. He was never in that part of Boston. How could there possibly have been something charged on the card in that area of Boston? The card couldn't have been stolen, for if it was, no one in their right mind would only charge something for four dollars. This puzzled him...it could be Éponine...he would have to ask her about it. The more he brooded about this mysterious purchase, the more it angered him. What was she doing in that part of Boston, and more importantly what made her, in her right mind, think she could take his credit card?

But when he walked in the door, the house was dark, and _that_ was odd.

"Éponine?" he called out as he turned on the living room light and then crossed the empty room to the kitchen. He didn't receive any answer.

"Éponine?" he called again, more irritation in his tone. Still no answer. He eyed around the kitchen before his vision landed on a piece of paper sitting on the kitchen table. He picked it up and inspected it.

'_Parnasse,  
_'_Zelma called and I went to her house for dinner.  
__Dinner's on the stove for you.  
__Didn't want to worry you, I'll be back later.  
_'_Ponine._

The anger was bubbling inside him as he crumpled the note in his hand. How dare she leave without even asking permission first? She knew very well that she could've called him at work and asked. Granted, he wouldn't have let her go anyway, but she knew better. She _knew_ to ask before she ever did anything. And this defied the rules he made. Instead, she went anyway and left him a note. _A damn note!_

Rage was boiling throughout every fiber of him now. And he knew he had to do something. He whipped out his phone from his pocket and opened up his contacts. He didn't need to scroll far for the one name he needed - Azelma.

...

Her fingers flicked through the large collection of DVDs on the shelves. He even had DVDs stacked behind DVDs; the collection seemed endless. Finally her eyes landed on one movie in particular and she gasped.

Enjolras came running from the kitchen area in the next moment. "What? What happened?" he asked frantic.

Éponine turned toward him in her kneeled position on the floor and held up the DVD. "Oh, Enjolras, please can we watch it? It's my favorite!" she smiled with that hopeful gleam in her eye.

He let out a sigh of relief, she was only excited by the movie, nothing was wrong. "Of course we can," he said, returning the smile. "I think it's a wonderful choice too." Taking the DVD from her hands, he opened the DVD player and put it in.

She took an excited seat on the couch, beaming. Enjolras couldn't help but notice already what a change there was in her attitude, it was like the whole incident never happened. "You know," she began, "this was my mother's favorite movie too. We used to watch it all the time and we used to pretend to be the characters. Gavroche, he always played Oliver...he made a great Oliver...and I always played Nancy. But Azelma was always mad at us 'cause she never got to be Nancy. We used to make her be Fagin," she chuckled at the memory. "She was always an awful Fagin..." she laughed.

"That sounds like such a nice memory," he smiled as he brought over the two mugs from the kitchen counter. He handed one to her and she took it carefully with both hands.

"It really was...now I'm afraid that once this movie is over, I'll have to leave right away, I don't want to get home too late."

Enjolras nodded in understanding before taking a sip of his hot chocolate. It was a three hour movie, after all. But for the next three hours then, at least he would know she was safe. He pressed "play" on the remote and soon the sounds of singing filled the air.

...

"Why the hell are you calling me?"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, I'm not calling to talk to _you_," Montparnasse spat back. He hated his sister-in-law, he honestly never minded the fight Éponine had with her. The less he saw of Azelma, the better.

"Then why the heck are you calling?" she demanded.

Montparnasse let out an exasperated and irritated sigh. These were the times he hated himself for not giving Éponine a cell phone. But he knew the risks if she were to have one. "Just put 'Ponine on the phone, I need to speak with her."

"'Ponine? What are you talking about, 'Parnasse? I haven't freakin' heard from 'Ponine in almost two years now."

Montparnasse stilled. He clutched the phone in his hand tighter. "_What_?" he bit through gritted teeth.

"I said I haven't heard from her in almost two years. Why would she be here now?"

He took in a very deep breath, trying to suppress his quickly growing vexation. "Éponine told me she has been going to your house for dinner," he replied rather calm.

He could hear Azelma gulp on the other end of the phone. And suddenly she knew fully what she had just triggered. Montparnasse let out a loud growl of frustration, slamming his fist against the kitchen table.

He was about to hang up the phone when Azelma's panicked voice stopped him, "Montparnasse! 'Parnasse! Parnasse! Please just - "

"What?!" he barked into the receiver.

"Please...just...don't hurt her."

And with that, he hung up the phone. He planted a seat on the living room couch, keeping full view of the front window for headlights. This time, Éponine was not getting away with anything. _Just wait until I get my hands on you, _he thought.

...

It had been a a few song numbers into the movie by now and Éponine was still smiling from ear to ear, singing along quietly to the songs. They both sat on the opposite ends of the couch and every so often, Enjolras would steal a glance at her and sure enough, Éponine's eyes were glued to that television. He would just smile and watch her for a moment longer before turning his attention away.

Suddenly, his ears heard those familiar lines on the television.

"_My name's Oliver. Oliver Twist."  
_"_An' mine's Jack Dawkins. Better known among the more intimate friends as The Artful Dodger."  
_"_Please to meet you Mr. Dodger. Sure the ol' gentleman won't mind?"  
_"_Mind?"_

Enjolras leaned over to her excitedly and tapped her arm. "It's our song!"

Éponine smiled knowing it was the song they sang to each other the night they first met. Yet, she stilled for a moment when Enjolras called it, "our song." Her and Montparnasse had a song as well. Sure it was some Classic Rock song that he insisted sounded just like it was "made for them," but Éponine hadn't even understood all the words in it until he explained them to her. But right now, her eyes lit up and she smiled when he called it "our song," there was just something so welcoming and comforting about having "Consider Yourself" as their song. Simultaneously, they both locked eyes with each other and grinned. Together they both started singing:

"_Consider yourself at home.  
__Consider yourself one of the family.  
__We've taken to you so strong.  
__It's clear we're going to get along."_

And for the rest of the song, the two of them bounced excitedly as they sang and glanced at each other and laughed. They both realized how silly they were, two grown adults in their mid-to-late twenties singing along to a musical. It was quite a sight but neither of them minded; they were both just that comfortable with each other.

The film continued and both enjoyed singing along far too much. Finally, it was the part of the film where Nancy is in Fagin's place with Oliver, Dodger and the rest of the boys. Dodger snapped his fingers and the boys set up a pretend carriage. Éponine let out a noise that sounded much like a squeal, "Ah! I love this song!"

And before Enjolras could say another word, she was singing, "_I'd do anything, For you dear anything, For you mean everything - to me..._"

Enjolras couldn't help himself and as soon as she ended that note, he cut her off, serenading her, "_I know that, I'll go anywhere, For your smile, anywhere, For your smile, ev'rywhere - I'd see..._"

Éponine got the hint and took the role of Nancy, assuming Enjolras would answer he back as Dodger. "_Would you climb a hill?_" she sang.

"_Anything_," he answered back in song.

"_Wear a daffodil_?"

"_Anything_!"

"_Leave me all your will?_"

"_Anything_!"

She was grinning as she stared at Enjolras who was grinning widely back at her. "_Even fight my Bill?_"

Enjolras' smile fell from his lips, turning the moment serious. He scooted closer to her, closing the distance and grabbing her hands again, but nodding this time. "I'd do _anything_ for you, Éponine," he said softly but firmly.

Éponine faltered, a bit taken aback by his abruptness. She pulled her hands from his grasp and moved herself even closer to the armrest of the couch. She didn't say a word as he inched himself a little closer to her again.

"You know," he said quietly as the music from the film still played in the background. "You're a lot like Nancy, Éponine. A beautiful, strong-willed girl, one who's just gotten a little mixed up along the way." Éponine turned her head away from Enjolras fully now, he could only wonder if she believed it too. "And Montparnasse, he's your Bill..." He watched Éponine shut her eyes tightly, as if trying to block out his words. "Bill made Nancy believe that what he did to her was okay, but it's not...it's not okay."

"But Nancy loves Bill!" she nearly screamed at Enjolras. "'As long as he needs me,' remember? Bill needs Nancy, he loves her. And she is faithful! She is faithful to him because he needs her! He _needs_ her!" her shouting was a mix of sobbing and tears that came falling from her eyes. She didn't know why this was making her cry again. But the things Enjolras was saying to her, it made it seem like her whole life was wrong. Her voice became quieter and she looked Enjolras straight in the eye, "And she loves him...right or wrong, remember? She'll be strong...she loves him."

"She does love him, Éponine. I know she does. But that doesn't make what happened in their relationship okay. He manipulated her and she let him. But...in the end...even Nancy stood up to Bill." He reached his hand up to her face and gently brushed the tears from under her eye with his thumb. His thumb found the still prominent red scar across her cheekbone and he stroked it tenderly. "Remember?" he added. "Nancy was allowed to stand up, she was allowed to tell him no. You are your own person, Éponine, Montparnasse does not own you. So, you can stand up to him too. Just like Nancy did."

Éponine looked down, discordance written all over her face. She had no more words for him. Enjolras pulled his hand away from her face and looked down too. He saw her staring at her hands, fiddling with her wedding band and swirling it around and around on her finger.

It was an understatement to say how confused Éponine was. Everything Enjolras was telling her contradicted what she had believed her entire life. She was safe and secure in her own world with Montparnasse. If anything changed, she would lose the one she loved. Thus, she wouldn't want anything to change. Montparnasse has been the only good spot in her life. He loved her back, that was all she ever wanted from life. She was willing to accept the bit of bad, in order to have the good.

But she also realized that Montparnasse punished her the other day in front of his friends, when she did nothing wrong. That was _not_ a punishment, yet he hit her anyway. Part of her questioned if what Montparnasse did to her counted as abuse, just as Enjolras described. Could it all be _abuse_? But he loved her, do you abuse the ones you love? Yet even Nancy stood up to Bill in the end. Even she saw that the things he did to her was wrong. Was Éponine really allowed to stand up to Montparnasse? Was she really allowed to tell him "no" when he hit her? Nancy did.

Then, it was that moment, Enjolras saw it. It was the tiniest movement, but he saw it. He saw her nod.

That was the only proof he needed to leave a piece of contentment in his heart. Slowly, he moved back to his side of the couch. He felt the couch shift as she curled herself up into a ball and rested her head on her arm over the armrest.

She didn't sing for the rest of the film.

There was probably only fifteen minutes left in the movie at this point. "You know," Enjolras said, breaking the silence between them, "this song was my mother's favorite, but I never really cared for it." He turned his head quickly to look at her when she didn't answer. "Well I didn't care for it until I watched it again recently and - " He turned his head again to her, still hearing no reply from her and then he finally noticed she was sleeping.

Enjolras sighed, not going to bother finishing his thought now. "Éponine?" he called in a whisper. She was truly asleep.

So he stood from the couch and shut off the television. He stared at her for a moment, deciding if he should wake her and send her home. He didn't want to, he didn't know what would happen to her if she went home.

He paced back and forth for a moment before he walked to the adjacent window. He moved the curtain back looking into the blackness of the night. It was cold out there, the storm was coming. The weatherman said it would snow either tomorrow or tonight. He could hear the wind howling and a few branches creaking as if they were ready to snap. He couldn't let her go home...the weather was bad, he reasoned. He didn't want her to go home.

So he closed the curtain, pulled a blanket from the back of the couch, and spread it over her sleeping form. He positioned her comfortably, placing a pillow beneath her head. He couldn't believe how sound asleep she actually was. So Enjolras took this opportunity to slip her ballet flats from her feet and rest them on the floor beside her.

He turned out the light and went to bed.

* * *

*Genesis 2:18, 1 Corinthians 11:3, 1 Timothy 2:11

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I appreciate it!**


	14. Of Being Good

**A/N: Thank you all so so so much for the wonderful reviews last chapter. It really means a lot to see how invested you are in this story. And it really helps me continue this...because listen, this story is so hard to write and this chapter, by far, was the most difficult. Writing this really messes with you. Like, yeah, really, I keep finding myself asking, "Why am I even writing this? Do I just love writing domestic abuse or something? Am I really **_**that**_** messed up in the head?" And I just don't have an answer for myself. But again, this story also raises awareness for battered women, because you never know how close it could be happening to you. **

**So, this chapter is what you've all been waiting for, right? Well, this chapter comes with a bunch of heavy warnings. I warn right now, that **_**reader discretion is advised.**_** I have my reasons as to why I really really prefer not to raise this story to M, and I believe that this chapter is not really as bad as I'm making it sound. Yes, it has some M rated content that you should be aware of but in all, the violence is left to your imagination. But if too many people feel strongly that this needs to be M after this chapter. I'll raise it right away. I promise. I don't want any cause for complaints, and I don't want to offend anyone. Most of the violence is implied and cut away from, so I hope I don't confuse anyone with how much I cut scenes in this chapter. I want to assure everyone, that without this chapter, the story cannot progress. Also, just a note, I think I borderline realism in this chapter, so I apologize if you find this to be a little past the cusp of realism...and this is also what makes me nervous for this chapter...**

**Warnings: Violence, implied sexual abuse and child sexual abuse.**

**I want to send a big shout-out to MaryEvH (read her stories) for being the BEST beta ever! She has truly overcome so much and helped me with this chapter. I owe her a lot, and I'm sending her good thoughts and virtual hugs with everything going on in her life. She has helped me perfect this chapter, because she knows **_**how nervous**_** I am about this one. (Cursing is done courtesy of her, because I don't curse.) I love you, dear, thank you so much for everything.**

**Again, please forgive me for this chapter. I really hope this doesn't reflect on me poorly, I am trying to keep it realistic and I constantly worry that I'm pushing things too much. I really really hope you all still support me on this journey of a story after this chapter. I really would love your feedback...but please be nice if you can...I'm **_**so**_** nervous. (I might die of anxiety)**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 14 - Of Being Good

...

Winter is a hard time for the White Tailed Deer. Food is scarce, shelter is hard to find, and there is barely any warmth. But when the sun breaks through the winter clouds and warms the air for a moment, that is when the deer is finally content.

The warm sunlight seeped through the cracks of the curtain in Enjolras' apartment, emitting a few rays onto Éponine's face. The sun awoke her as if it was awaking a deer from its cold slumber after a long winter. The light glistened on her face for a few seconds before her eyes fluttered open.

Her mind was a daze and she instantly had no idea where she was. But as she lifted her head, last night's memories came rushing back to her like a tidal wave. And that was the moment the panic set in.

Tossing the blanket off of her, she yelled, "Enjolras!" The apartment looked empty as she stood to her feet, glancing around. "Enjolras!" she called again, but this time her voice wavered as she was finding it difficult to breathe.

Her mind was running rampant trying to foresee any outcome where she would walk away unharmed. She knew the trouble she would be in when she walked in the door to her home. She had completely disobeyed him by leaving him a note and now she never made it home all night. Éponine could already see Montparnasse's fuming face in the front of her mind.

Stumbling to her feet, she immediately bent to the floor to put her shoes back on her feet, searching around the apartment for her coat or any sign of Enjolras.

It was only a few minutes later, that Enjolras shuffled in from the bedroom scraping his feet as he walked. "Éponine?" he asked in a sleep-ridden voice. "What are you doing up?"

Her eyes met Enjolras' harshly as he staggered into the dining area where she was. She stomped over to him, giving him a shove in the chest with both hands. "How dare you!" she accused.

Enjolras looked shocked, one that she was physically pushing him and two that she was yelling at him. "What?" he questioned, now awaking fully.

"How dare you let me sleep here all night! I had to go home! Don't you realize how bad _this_ is?"

She was right. He knew she was right. Last night, the only thing he could think about was keeping her from going home. After everything she had told him, he didn't want her to leave, he didn't want her to go home to her life with her husband. He wanted to keep her to himself, he wanted to keep her safe. It was being selfish, he knew that and he had accepted the fact she would be a bit angry with him; he just never planned on her overreacting like this. But she was right, he didn't realize how bad this actually was. He could only cringe now at what he imagined might happen to her if she went home.

"Éponine, I'm sorry - " But his words were cut off as she stormed away from him, grabbing her coat from the chair and yanking it on.

"How dare you, Enjolras!" she repeated. Tears were threatening to spill through her anger because underneath she was scared truly, not angry.

"The weather was bad," he tried yelling to her as she pulled open the front door to his apartment. He grabbed ahold of the door, trying to keep her from opening it further. He didn't want her to leave. He was still being selfish. But in his mind, selfishness meant security.

Roughly, she pushed her way in between the crack of the door and the wall before her turning her face to Enjolras. "Screw you," she hissed as she slammed the door behind her.

...

Éponine sat in her car, fingers trembling as she put the keys in the ignition. The clock on the dash read 7:03. It was still early, the sun had just barely come up over the winter horizon line. It was then she remembered it was Thursday. She knew she needed to be at work today, but she didn't start until 9:00. Her fingers drummed along the steering wheel as she debated her options.

Option One: she could go home, face whatever wrath Montparnasse would be in, get her punishment over with and go to work. Or Option Two: she could go to work now, in the same clothes from yesterday, not having brushed her teeth or her hair and wait in the parking lot until 9:00 when Mr. Gallagher opened up the building. Then, proceed with her work day until she had to go home at 5:00.

Obviously, option two meant avoiding Montparnasse all day until she would see him when he came home from work at 6:00. But option two also meant not having breakfast or lunch for the day. But was starving a small price to pay in order to put off her punishment? Or would her punishment be worse since she wouldn't go home right away? What if Mr. Gallagher asked about her clothes? What would she tell him? And what if Montparnasse called her office phone while she was working? Or what if he showed up? The anxiety was beginning to eat away any sanity Éponine had left.

Yet, she chose option two, despite all the doubts, flaws, and discrepancies in this plan.

...

"Multiple victimization."

Those were the first words Combeferre heard as he took his seat at the bar counter in front of Enjolras. "Excuse me?" he asked for clarification.

"Multiple victimization," Enjolras repeated, beaming with a new excitement in his eyes. "I did some research. Everything Éponine has told me and everything I have learned, tells me that she is a victim of multiple cases of abuse."

"Slow down, Enjolras. What exactly did Éponine tell you last night?"

"So much, 'Ferre...so much..." He shook his head lost in the memories of the horror stories she had told him. "So much, and I don't even know what to do right now...I'm so worried and she's mad at me again..." Enjolras fell to his elbows on the counter. "It seems every time things are going well between us, something happens and she gets mad at me."

"Wait, Enj, tell me what happened, from the beginning."

Enjolras let out a long sigh. "Well, we had dinner and we were just having a nice conversation. Just about the weather and her siblings. And then, we were cleaning up and she knocked over her wine glass. It broke all over the floor...and 'Ferre, she really thought I was going to hit her for it."

"So that confirmed it then? She told you that's what her husband does to her?"

"Well, yes it confirmed it...but she never outright said she is being abused...and that's because she doesn't think she is." Combeferre nodded along, waiting for him to elaborate. "You said last time that she might not know she's in a 'textbook abusive relationship' and she doesn't. But she told me, it's not just her husband. It was her father too."

Combeferre stilled, "What?"

"Yeah, she was abused as a child. But she didn't even consider it abuse. She said she 'deserved it,' she said they were just 'punishments.' Oh, but 'Ferre, the things she believes, it's so twisted...the things they've made her believe. It's messed up, it's _seriously_ messed up."

"What kind of things did she say?"

"Horrible things. How she thinks she is stupid...how all women are stupid. How it's a man's responsibility to teach a woman. How she needs to be 'punished' in order to learn. 'Ferre, she was begging me to punish her for breaking the glass."

Combeferre's mouth fell open slightly as he listened. "Damn..." he concurred.

"Apparently, it's common though. Most girls who are abused as children end up in abusive relationships. They just get passed from one abusive relationship to the next. And Éponine, she hasn't even _realized_."

Combeferre stayed silent, the sounds of the bar chatter around them invading their conversation. He couldn't even look at his friend, the pain behind his eyes was too much to look at. Enjolras was beyond invested in this situation now and Combeferre knew that once Enjolras set his mind on something, he dove into it with every ounce of passion he had. "Enjolras?" he finally spoke up seriously when a new thought crossed his mind. "Do you like her?"

Enjolras' head shot up as he snorted, "What?"

"Do you like her?" he repeated.

"I don't think that has anything to do with this, 'Ferre. Éponine needs help. I can't just do nothing."

"But seriously, Enj, I know she needs help, but she doesn't need someone else vying for her affections right now either. She doesn't need any extra confusion. If so, the situation is going to get more worse than it already is."

Enjolras was quiet, taking in all of what Combeferre said to him. He couldn't help what he was starting to feel for her and Combeferre was right, if Montparnasse suspected that she could be involved with another man, neither of them might make it out unharmed. "I'm her friend. That's it," he breathed.

"Just make sure it stays that way." Enjolras averted his gaze from Combeferre and Combeferre noticed. He watched Enjolras begin to fidget with his hands as he stared off somewhere distant. "We'll help her," he finally stated in a whisper.

"I'm worried, 'Ferre," Enjolras responded, his voice cracking in the process. "She doesn't want help. She thinks she loves him...and now...now, because of my selfishness, Éponine is mad at me, and I-I don't even know if she's gonna be alright."

"Why? What else happened?"

"She told me she needed to go home after the movie...b-but...she fell asleep and I let her sleep on the couch overnight. 'Ferre, I didn't think it would be a big deal. Th-then, this morning she was yelling at me and pushed me, and she was like, 'Don't you realize how bad this is?' and then...I-I hadn't even thought about it. Her husband is going to be furious - "

"Enjolras, calm down, calm down," Combeferre said, placing a firm hand on his forearm. "We'll call the police, we won't let him hurt her - "

"How the hell will we do that?! I don't know where she lives, I still don't even know her last name! _How am I going to help her_?"

Combeferre fell silent once again, letting the realization sink in.

There was nothing they could do.

...

Montparnasse sat on the couch with TV turned off as he stared out the window. She still had not come home. It was mid-afternoon now, and not a sign from her, she didn't even find a way to call. He was beyond vehement but he was saving his anger, holding it all inside for when he was ready to release it on her.

When morning had come and he woke up on the couch in the same position he fell asleep in, he searched the house thinking she might have snuck in during the night. But she still wasn't home when he looked. He knew the best option would be to wait for her, so he called into work sick to spend the day waiting. He smirked when he realized she might come home in the middle of the day thinking he wouldn't be home and then he sure would surprise her.

So he waited. In this waiting, he let his anger subside for awhile and it was only then he started to consider that maybe she left him. But he quickly tossed aside that thought for Éponine was faithful. He knew how much she loved him, she wouldn't just leave with no warning signs. She was still submissive and passive, if there were any warning signs to be had, it would be when she started questioning his authority, rather than just accept it.

Now it was still mid-afternoon, with no word from her. He couldn't wait to interrogate her, to instill that fear in her and make her do what _he_ wanted. He was in control now, for he remembered a time exactly when he wasn't.

...

_His little feet carried him up the long walkway to a large stone house, escorted by a man in a dark brown suit. His mind was whirling with questions and confusion but he remained silent, not saying a word. _

_Before the man in the dark brown suit could even knock on the door, it opened to reveal a tall, skinny woman with curly blonde hair. Her face held the most radiant and bright smile little Montparnasse had ever seen. _

"_Hello!" she greeted as she squatted down in the doorway so she was eye level with the child, "You must be Monty. It's okay if I call you that, right, honey?"_

_Montparnasse's face lit up a fraction as he nodded, still not saying a word. _

_She stood back to her feet and grabbed Montparnasse's little clammy hand. "You can call me Miss Juliana," she smiled. "Now, why don't you come inside and meet some of the other boys."_

_The man in the dark brown suit walked with Montparnasse into the house. "Where is Mrs. Deborah?" he asked, "I spoke with her on the phone."_

"_She in the office, right down the hall, you can go in and speak with her," Juliana answered. "Last door on the left."_

_The man nodded and continued down the hallway. Suddenly, loud shouts were heard before a thunderstorm of pattering feet tumbled down the stairwell. A herd of young boys of various ages came cascading down the stairs looking as if they were playing some sort of chase game. They bypassed Juliana and Montparnasse, seeming to be more engrossed in their game rather than the new face. _

"_Careful boys!" she hollered to them, but they all ignored her as they filed out of the room in a hurry. Montparnasse cringed and held tighter to Juliana's hand as the boys nearly knocked him over in the cramped foyer. "Don't worry," she chuckled. "Soon you'll be running amok with them and I'll be yelling at you to stop too." The child didn't answer her, but just stared up at her with those wide and terrified eyes. "How old are you, Monty?"_

_He still was silent as he fixed his eyes to the floor and then he finally whispered, "...seven." She reached her hand down and cupped the side of his face making him meet her gaze. She gave him the most endearing and comforting smile and for the first time he felt at ease. "Where is my mom?" he asked meekly._

_Juliana closed her eyes and sighed. Her fingers stroked his cheek tenderly, traveling up the side of his head and lacing her fingers in his soft ebony curls. "You're such a beautiful boy, my poor Monty." Without removing her hand from his face, she bent down in front of him on one knee. "Your mother...she's on vacation..." she lied. _

_Montparnasse stilled as he took in the information. "So when will she be coming back for me?"_

_Juliana only sighed again. "She's not coming back."_

...

The church bells tolled five times and then stopped.

This was it.

It was the end of the day. All day, Éponine had been a nervous wreck. Every time the doors opened she expected it to be Montparnasse. But each time it was only her own anxiety and Montparnasse wasn't actually there. However, she was also afraid to answer the phone. Each time she said, "Hello?" she was just waiting for that familiar voice to say, "Hello 'Ponine" back to her. And each time she answered, it wasn't Montparnasse.

It was driving her insane, but she held it together. She only jumped about three times the whole day when Mr. Gallagher called her name. And every tear she wanted to shed, she held in. She was not going to cry. She was going to be strong. So, she just hoped she was over thinking it all. She had been punished hundreds of times before, so why start worrying about it now?

_Because you can stand up to him, _something in the back of her mind said to her. Yes, Enjolras told her that she could say "no" to him, and this time, she intended to.

...

The minute she pulled up the driveway, Éponine's heart sank. She saw Montparnasse's car sitting in the driveway and she knew he was home. There was nothing left to do, no where to run, no where to hide. All that was left to do was count the steps that led her closer and closer to her husband.

She took in a deep breath and straightened her back as she placed a hand on the doorknob. Gracefully, she looked up above her, praying to whatever force was there. But all she saw was the darkened gray sky. And all she saw was the storm coming.

Once through the front door, she hung up her coat on the hook as she always did and slipped her shoes from her feet. The house was too quiet, and she knew just around the corner - on the other side of the wall - Montparnasse was waiting in the living room for her.

She put on her brave face and entered the living room.

"Éponine."

He was standing right behind the couch, watching her with an intense gaze as she took a few scared steps into the room.

"Hey, 'Parnasse," she greeted with a false cheeriness. "Sorry I haven't been home - "

"Where were you?" he questioned in a grave tone.

She had her lie prepared. A simple story about how it was late and she fell asleep on Azelma's couch, then before she knew it, it was morning. "Didn't you see my note? I was at Azelma's and it got late - "

"Bullshit," he snapped.

Éponine gulped. _How did he know?_ This was something she hadn't been expecting. He knew she was lying about being at Azelma's? Does that mean he also knew about Enjolras? And does this mean she should ask him what exactly he knew? How long had he known? What should she do? What should she say?

Her silence was only making him grow angrier as he took two menacing steps toward her. "Where were you?" he repeated coldly.

Éponine swallowed a building lump. She couldn't tell him, she shouldn't tell him. But this was it, she realized, this was he chance to stand up to him. "_Even Nancy stood up to Bill,_" Enjolras' voice reminded her.

"Like I have to tell you," she quipped, raising her nose in the air just to spite him.

The back of his hand connected with the side of her face so fast, she stayed sideways for a minute letting the room come back into focus. His hand grabbed a fistful of her hair bringing her face back up and close to his. "What makes you think you can talk back to me?" he breathed calmly into her ear. She let out a small yelp as he tugged her hair tighter into his fist. "Now let's try this again, shall we?" He paused before repeating, "Where were you?"

She vowed right there and then, she wouldn't tell him. She was not going to give up Enjolras' safety. He was her only friend and she promised herself - right then - that she would keep Enjolras as far away from Montparnasse as possible. She bit her tongue and stayed silent.

He yanked her up a bit higher, pulling at her hair in frustration. "I got your note," he jeered. "How dare you leave me a damn note, first of all, and continue on with your plans without even asking _me_ first. So I called Azelma." He saw her eyes double when he said that and he devilishly smirked in response, confirming the fact that she was hiding something. "And you know was Azelma said?" he asked in a mocking tone. "She said she hadn't heard from you in two years. Two. Fucking. Years." He fisted his hand tighter, bringing her ear close to his lips so that she could hear every word loud and clear. "So where were you?" he breathed. "All those times you said you were with Azelma? _Where were you_?"

"_You can stand up to him too."_

Éponine lifted a challenging stare into Montparnasse's eyes. "I don't have to tell you anything!" she taunted.

Instantly, Montparnasse hocked in a breath before he spit in Éponine's face. She panted for a moment as her hand came up to wipe off the saliva. His eyes narrowed and his face was red with fury. She didn't even have a second to think before he pulled her back roughly so she was at arm's length. He held back his right fist for a heartbeat, and let it go, punching her square in the temple.

Éponine would've fallen to the ground at the force of the blow but his hand still gripping her hair prevented her from doing so. "What is your problem, 'Ponine?" he hissed in her ears. She wouldn't meet his gaze - she knew better at this point - and she still wouldn't answer him. As if she weighed nothing at all, he tossed her to the ground, letting her fall on her face.

Her elbows stung as they slid roughly against the wood floor.

"How dare you disrespect me, Éponine!" he yelled as his foot kicked her in the ribs, causing her to flip over onto her back. Her face contorted in agony, as her hands flew to her midsection to abate the pain. He looked down at her in disgust while he stepped over her body to straddle her. Slowly, Montparnasse squatted down, hovering above her chest. He was so close to her she could clearly see the seam between his trousers. He latched onto her jaw, squeezing it firmly in his hand. "Have you forgotten your place in this relationship?" Her terrified eyes didn't answer him as he stared her down. "Where is _your_ place?" he asked through gritted teeth.

She could barely move her jaw by how tight he was holding it. She strained against his strength so she could minimally answer, "...beneath you."

He nodded once in approval. "So, let me ask again. Where. Were. You."

Éponine squirmed in his grasp. She would not tell him where she really was. She needed to make up something quick, but her head was so cloudy, her thoughts kept jumbling together. She realized the hit she took to the head must've been harder than she originally thought. It seemed in that moment that all the lies she had spent weeks making up in her head, just instantly disappeared.

"Answer me!" he shouted, lifting her head up a few inches off the floor only to slam it back down. Pain shot through her skull and her vision blurred for a moment.

She let Montparnasse come back into focus as she answered weakly, "...out."

"Out?" he snarled. "Out where?"

"Ju-just...just...b-by myself. I-I just...wanted time by...by myself," she stuttered, letting the saliva collect at the corners of her mouth as he still kept firm hold of her jaw.

"So what? Do you loathe my company? Is that it? You hate spending time with me so much that you have to sneak around? You hate me?"

"...n-no..."

"Then what?" he spit. "What is it?"

She wanted to cry. She could feel her tough façade slipping through her fingers like sand. She couldn't stand up to him now...not when he made her feel this bad. Now he thought she didn't love him; but she did, she loved him so much. Suddenly, all of her lies and sneaking around started to seem like a bad choice. why didn't she see this end in store when she stared it? It had all seemed so good in the beginning, but now, she realized just how much it was tearing apart her marriage. "I-It's...it's just - " she croaked out before he cut her off.

"I thought you were a _good girl_."

"I am a good girl," she wheezed as the tears brimmed in her eyes.

His fingers tightened around her jaw in a vice grip, just enough to bruise. "You haven't been acting like one," he responded easily. "You lie to me, sneak around without me, you steal my credit card - " He paused watching her eyes go wide. All he could do was smirk, "Oh? You thought I didn't know about that? I know, Éponine, I _know_. And anything you do...I will always find out." He could feel her muscles move as she swallowed.

Éponine didn't want to move, the fear was slowly growing inside of her. Yet, she didn't take her eyes away from her husband's.

"Then you leave without even asking my permission first," he continued, "you stay out all night, wandering back home twenty-four hours later, and you have the nerve to talk back to me the second you get home. Don't you even _think_?"

"I-I'm sorry..." she slurred out.

He pursed her lips together, giving her face a tighter squeeze. "Oh, I know you are. But 'sorry' doesn't even begin to make up for what you did to me...for how much you have wronged me." He lowered his face closer to her, so much so he was practically breathing in her mouth. If this was an alternate universe, Éponine thought that maybe he would kiss her by how close he was. But this was not. This was her life. "You _say_ you're a 'good girl'...but you've been _bad_, very _bad_." His nose crinkled each time he said the word "bad," throwing more disgust at her with even the movements of his face. "So it's up to you, my dear, you want to be a good girl...or a bad girl?"

Her heart was thudding along with the pounding of her head. She could hear the blood pumping in her ears. It was like some sick sort of background music, constantly getting louder and louder with each word he spit at her. "I-I...I want to be...good. I want t-to be a...good girl."

He nodded only once. "You want to be good?" he asked, clarifying for emphasis.

"...yes."

"Yes what?"

"Yes...yes. I want to be good."

"Good girls accept what they've done wrong. Do you accept it?"

Her head trembled as she forced a nod. "Yes...I accept it."

"Then you know I'm going to have to punish you for what you did, right?" As soon as she nodded, Montparnasse shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

...

_He was eight years old now, he would be turning nine in two weeks. He had never turned into that rambunctious child that Miss Juliana told him he would be. Instead, he took his hurt and anger toward the world and isolated it. The other boys liked to taunt him for being so quiet, they would steal his meals leaving him hungry or mess with the few possessions he had. Then Miss Juliana would find him crying in a closet deep in the house and she would comfort him. Some nights, she even let him sleep with her in her bed. It was no secret that Montparnasse was Juliana's favorite. The other boys would notice the little touches and the gestures from her to him and they were always jealous because of it. They would see her bend down beside him as he sat at the dining table for a meal, they would see her rub his knee tenderly as she spoke kindly to him. She would always provide him with extra attention, choosing to read him her favorite books before bed or sneaking him a snack in the afternoon. But Montparnasse didn't mind the attention, for someone actually cared for him._

_Currently, Montparnasse sat at the large and empty dining room table. He was leaning over his paper and coloring his drawing with the one crayon he had. He didn't hear the other boys enter from behind him. _

"_Hey _Monty_," the largest one - Zachary - taunted. "Whatcha drawin'?" he asked as he pulled the paper from Montparnasse's grasp and held it up so he and the other two boys could see it. "What's this? You and your _mommy_?" he laughed. Montparnasse blushed as that was exactly what he was drawing._

"_She's not coming back for you!" the second boy - Cameron - interjected. "She left you here because she hates you. She hates you so much she didn't ever want to see your stupid face again."_

"_Give it back," was the only response Montparnasse said. _

_Zachary whipped the crayon from Montparnasse's hand and held it high above his head. "Come get it if you want it. C'mon _Monty_, jump for it!" Montparnasse could feel the rage slowly building as he humiliated himself by trying to jump for the crayon in vain. Zachary took a step back and snapped the crayon in half. "Oops," he said mockingly. _

_Cameron smirked watching Montparnasse's face still. He poked the third boy in the ribs gesturing to Montparnasse's drawing in his hand. "Hey Caleb," he sneered. Caleb got the hint and smirked too as he grabbed the other end of the drawing. Simultaneously, they pulled the paper until it ripped in half. "Oops," they said in unison. _

_The three of them watched as Montparnasse's face seemed to crumple before them. They only laughed as they watched him on the verge of tears. But Montparnasse swallowed those feelings and stood a little taller. His face became square and resolute. The boys continued laughing. "He still thinks his mommy is coming to get him," Zachary cried in laughter. "What a loser!"_

_Montparnasse pulled his arm and let his fist fling in Zachary's face. Silence immediately followed them as the other two boys stood in shock. _

"_Montparnasse!" Miss Juliana's voice came from behind him. _

_The little eight year old looked like a fish out of water. His jaw hung open at being caught. Juliana crossed in front of him and titled Zachary's face back, inspecting his now bloodied nose. "Go find Mrs. Deborah and have her take care of you, I'm going to deal with Montparnasse."_

_The three boys scampered off as Juliana turned a disdainful eye back to Montparnasse. "Why on earth did you do that?" she asked in a voice that wasn't angry or stern but more exasperated and calm. _

"_They were saying mean things to me about my mom, and then...then they broke my crayon and ripped my drawing." By the time he finally choked his sentence out, he let the tears fall freely. _

_But in the next moment, he felt Juliana's arm around his shoulders. "You've been bad, Monty," she said gravely. "Bad boys become monsters. They don't ever learn from what they've done wrong. They grow up, never taking responsibility for their actions. They are ridiculed by people and they never learn manners; never learn respect. I know you're a good boy. Do you want to be good?"_

_He trembled under her stern gaze but he gave her a shaky nod._

"_Good boys accept what they've done wrong, they learn from their mistakes. They take their punishments with pride." She gave him a solemn smile, "You want to be good, correct?"_

"_...yes," he cautiously answered._

"_Then, you know I'm going to have to punish you for what you did, right?" Montparnasse only nodded again. But this time, it was an unwavering nod. "Alright then, let's go to my room," she said with finality. Her hand on his back escorted him through the dining room as they began to mount the stairs together. Montparnasse sloppily wiped the tears from his eyes as he sniveled. "You know I don't like crying, Monty." Abruptly, he finished wiping his eyes and sucked in a deep breath. Her hand soothingly rubbed his back. "It will be alright," she purred. "When we're finished, I have a whole box of crayons you can borrow and you can make a brand new picture. One even better than before."_

_They entered her room solemnly and she locked the door behind them._

...

"Stand up," he commanded. He tore his eyes away from Éponine as he stood back to his own feet and stepped off of her. He couldn't look at her as he forced back everything that his subconscious brought up. _This is different, _he reminded himself.

Warily, she stood to her feet, using the back of the couch as support for her swaying body.

"Good girls _want_ to be punished. They _want_ to learn from their mistakes. They _want_ to learn respect for the ones they love. Do you want that, Éponine?" Finally, he looked up to watch her. She gave him a chary nod, unsure how to answer for a moment. He took a step forward in dominance. "Do you _want_ to be punished?" he asked.

Éponine stood still. How was she supposed to answer him? Did she really _want_ to be hit? No. But did she want to learn reverence? Did she want her husband to know just how much she respected him? Yes. In effect then, she _wanted_ to be punished. She straightened her back, kept her arms firmly by her side and inhaled.

"Yes," she replied meekly. She was a dog, listening and hanging on every word that her master was saying, willing to do anything for him because she loved him.

"Yes?" he questioned thoughtfully as he took a few ominous steps around her, circling her like prey. "Tell me again, yes _what_?"

She stared straight ahead, resolutely looking forward and avoiding Montparnasse's harsh eyes boring into her. "...yes. Yes, please. I want to be punished."

She heard the rustling of fabric behind her followed by the clink of his belt. She didn't flinch this time. He circled around her, standing in front of her now, perhaps only two inches away. Towering over her, he folded the belt in half and raised it to her face, gently stroking the leather against her cheek. "Remember, _you_ want this."

She closed her eyes, letting the feeling of the leather fully sink in against her skin. It didn't hurt but it felt like it was fire. He brushed the belt over her lips and crossed it to her other cheek.

"Strip," was the next command.

With quivering hands, she removed her shirt overhead and tossed it behind her on the floor. He watched her every movement as she undid the fasten to her jeans and slipped those off as well. She stood up straight again.

"Everything."

Her eyes dared to meet his for only a fraction of a second, just to see the look in his eyes. Just as she assumed, he was serious.

"Eyes on the floor," he flared with snap of the belt as he pulled it in his two hands.

She jumped at the sound, immediately giving away the fear she was trying to suppress. Cautiously, she unclasped her bra behind her back, slid it down her arms and tossed it to the pile of clothes. Finally, she hooked her fingers around the elastic of her underwear and slid them off. She stepped out of them, making sure to keep her gaze fixed on the floor. She tossed them with the rest of her clothes and then stood bare before him.

"On your hands and knees like the bitch you are."

Slowly, she lowered herself back to the floor and did just as he said. She kept her head down, eyes set on the hardwood floor. She didn't cry, she didn't flinch. She _wanted_ this.

"That's a good girl," he cooed above her.

...

"'_Children...be obe...e...'"_

"_Obedient."_

"'_...obedient to your parents in u...nion...with the Lord, for this is right...e...'"_

"_Righteous."_

"'_...righteous. "Honor your father...and your mother" is the first...com...mand with a promise: "That...it may go well with you and you may re...main a...long time on the...earth."' * Can we be done now, Miss Juliana? I'm tired of reading..."_

_Miss Juliana smiled down to little Montparnasse who was currently perched on her lap. Her long slender finger combed a few of his dark curls behind his ear. "I suppose so, Monty. But only because it's Christmas Eve."_

_Montparnasse's eyes lit up like a thousand suns. He snapped the bible shut and jumped off her lap to place the book back on the shelf. _

_Almost as soon as he reached up and put the book away, Miss Juliana was patting her knee and beckoning Montparnasse back to her. "Come here, Monty." With childlike eagerness, he rushed to her once again, and positioned himself back on her lap. "I've got a present for you."_

_His eyes turned wide. "Really? A present? Just for me?"_

"_Yes, just for you," she chuckled as she placed a little peck on his cheek. "Now close your eyes and hold out your hands." He did just so. "No peeking," she scolded lightly when she noticed his little eyelid try and sneak a look. Immediately, he shut his eyes tightly, waiting in anticipation for his present. "Open!" she announced as she placed a little box in his hands. _

_He flapped his eyes open to behold the little silver box in his hands. Delicately, he slipped off the red ribbon and opened the lid. Nestled inside the box was a gold dog tag with a gold chain attached to it. His little hands picked it up and examined it. _

"_It's real gold," Juliana said to him with a radiant smile spread across her face._

"_Real?" he asked in disbelief. _

"_Yup, fourteen karats. And look," she said, pointing to the dog tag piece. "Look what it says."_

_Montparnasse looked closely at it before he exclaimed, "It says my name!"_

_She smiled kindly, "Yes it does. I had them personalize it, just for you."_

"_Wow! Thank you! Thank you, Miss Juliana!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her neck and giving her a sloppy kiss on the cheek - a childlike kiss with a little too much saliva. She just laughed as he hugged her tightly. He felt exuberant and content at the same time. Miss Juliana was everything to him, she was all he ever needed and all he ever wanted. He gave his heart to her and she took it gladly. She filled a void in him that he assumed would never go away after his mother was gone. Yet here he was now, gleeful and excited to be spending Christmas with the one person he loved. _

_Her laugh turned into a delicate smile as she helped him put on the necklace. "There," she announced, holding him back at arms length to admire him with the necklace on. "Now, would you like to give me my present?"_

_Montparnasse became immobile. "I'm so sorry, I didn't get you a present."_

_Her fingers played with his hair again, gently combing it back and teasing it. "Hush now, I know. But you know my present isn't an object." Montparnasse became very still as he nodded solemnly, remembering exactly what her present always was on Christmas Eve. "Right, so go ahead, lay down on the bed."_

_Quietly, Montparnasse crawled off her lap and laid down on his back just as she asked. His head rested against her pillows and he placed his hands by his side._

"_That's a good boy," she cooed above him as her voice gradually got closer and closer to him._

_Montparnasse shut his eyes._

...

Outside the house was quiet. There was not a single bird making a sound in the darkness. There was not a dog barking in the distance. Not even a wind that would rustle the leaves and creak the branches.

Everything was quiet.

The quiet was only broken by the faint sound of a crack against skin, followed by a stifled cry of agony. It was a sickening sound for any who could hear it. But the house was isolated, with only the trees as neighbors, so it was as if the sound didn't even exist.

It was there, that night, the skies finally opened up, and even the angels cried. Their silent and unique tears falling to the earth and sticking to the ground, covering the world in their white sorrow.

...

"_Montparnasse?" the firm but kind voice asked. "Would you please tell me everything that happened between you and Miss Juliana?"_

_Montparnasse twiddled his thumbs as he sat in the chair that was much too big for him, locked in a cold gray room with a man wearing a shiny badge and Mrs. Deborah. He felt like the walls were closing in around him, suffocating him in the process and the two adults he was with seemed like they could care less._

"_Where is Miss Juliana?" Montparnasse asked shyly. _

_Mrs. Deborah took a step forward and sat down across from him at the steel table. She held a sad and sympathetic expression. "Oh, my poor child...she's on vacation."_

_That was it. Montparnasse snapped. "Don't lie to me! Tell me where she is!"_

_Mrs. Deborah jumped at the sound of his raised voice. Her hands began to tremble and she held them together to stop them. "Miss Juliana had to leave. But she's somewhere where she won't be able to get to you anymore," she said kindly, trying to offer him a smile._

"_I-I don't understand..." He stared down at his hands, closing them together tightly. Everything was crumbling apart now. "Why would she have to leave? Why would she leave _me_?" Montparnasse could feel his fists trembling in rage. Everyone he thought liked him and cared for him just left him. Why did they always have to leave? Juliana liked him and now she was gone, even his own mother deserted him. What was so wrong with him that they couldn't stay? He gathered from the things the adults said that when his mother found out she was pregnant with him, his father left. He wasn't even born yet and his own father left him. Mrs. Deborah never liked him the way Miss Juliana did and all the boys hated him. _

_So here Montparnasse was again; alone. He had no one now. All the people in his life kept leaving him and he had no control to stop them. In fact, he had no control over anything, he was shuffled from one place to the next, constantly told what to do and where to go. But the one time he recalled ever feeling control was when he punched Zachary in the face. He saw the fear in his eyes and the fear from the other boys. It was a feeling of power, one he would never forget. _

_Well Montparnasse didn't need any of them now. He didn't need the stupid boys he was forced to live with, he didn't need Mrs. Deborah, he didn't need the man with the badge who looked down on him with scorn and pity; he didn't need anyone. He was Montparnasse Moreaux and he could take care of himself. _

_With only a name in his possession, the dog tag around his neck, and being only eleven years old, Montparnasse decided to take control of his own life. And no one was going to stop him. _

...

Courfeyrac pulled the double doors together securely, letting what was left of the breeze slide into the bar.

"Man, it's really coming down out there now," he remarked, shaking the chill from his arms as he walked behind the bar counter.

Enjolras bit his lip, seeming more preoccupied with his thoughts rather than his friend. When Combeferre left that afternoon, he became a nervous wreck. His only strong support that knew anything about what he was dealing with, just left him. Enjolras couldn't think straight, he could barely focus on what he was doing. He messed up orders four times already this night and broke a beer bottle too.

It was just too much. Éponine was the only thing he could focus on right now. As much as he didn't want to say it, he liked her. He cared for her so much. And the fact that she could be anywhere right now was making it worse. He didn't even want to imagine the state she was in. Yet his mind kept forcing scenarios upon him, making him imagine her with eyes swollen shut, a black and blue face, arms twisted at absurd angles...It was all just too much.

A rush of cold wind hit him again as a group of patrons entered the bar. Their obnoxious loud chatter alerted Enjolras to them. So he lifted his gaze and watched the group of four rowdy men take seats at the end of the bar, shaking the snow from their jackets as they did so. But he froze when his eyes caught sight of those raven black curls, that pale complexion, and that wicked smirk.

"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac yelled, forcing him from his thoughts. Enjolras had to do everything in his power to turn his head away and face his friend. Courfeyrac whistled as he gave a nod in the direction of the group. "Don't just stand there. Customers!"

Enjolras gave a leery nod back as his feet slowly moved him in their direction.

* * *

* Ephesians 6:1-3

* * *

**A/N: I'm so sorry for this chapter and I'm sorry about your feels. **

**To Guest who writes in caps: You are **_**amazing**_**! Thank you so much for all your support. I really appreciate you. Love you too!**

**To Just a Guest: I'm sorry if I'm making you too nervous to read this, I'm doing my best to keep things tame and tasteful. I know the twist on Éponine accepting everything is different, but she needs a character arc, and this is a good beginning stage for her. Plus, it makes for an interesting read to see something a bit different. And the Oliver part has been in my outline from the beginning. And rest assured, Azelma will have a nice big role to play and we will find out her story as well. For this chapter - and this goes for everyone - not gonna lie, but I hope I made you feel something for Montparnasse now. You can't blame him for what he has become, he is a victim of circumstance. **

**Thank you all so so much. I hope you have good things to say about this chapter... (God, I'm still nervous, *hides under pillow*)**


	15. Of Tactlessness and Travesties

**A/N: Yes, I know some of you have been wondering where I went…well things have been really rough for me. I lost my dog recently and it was such a traumatic experience…I've just needed some time. I've been a wreck and I'm just taking it so hard. He was everything to me…Baron and I, we would go to the ends of the earth for each other and now he is gone…things just haven't been the same. So I deeply apologize for not updating or having the will to write. **

**I appreciate your continued support throughout this all. And Grace and Just a Guest…I appreciate you loving my story enough to beg me to update, but I'm sorry that I have really just been a wreck lately. I would've PMed the both of you and explained the situation had you had accounts, but I do hope you understand why I haven't been on. Also, school has not ceased to give me a break and I'm struggling to keep up with work and now I have an added stress of trying to write a novel and my grandpa has been in ICU for days…so I'm very sorry.**

**For anyone who may feel interested, I put a link in my bio of a short quick video I made: In Memory of Baron. Hopefully this may enlighten you as to why I just haven't been able to let go of him. I just miss him so much...**

**No heavy violence in this chapter...**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 15 - Of Tactlessness and Travesties

...

"Well good for you, 'Parnasse, you put her in her place," Brujon announced, clapping Montparnasse on his shoulder and nodding in approval.

Enjolras's heart nearly stopped when he heard those words. He was referring to Éponine, wasn't he? So, Montparnasse "put her in her place?" His immediately face paled and his hands balled into fists. Did that mean what he thought it meant? The guilt pooled in his heart the more he remembered Éponine yelling at him this morning about "how bad" this situation was. He knew he had inadvertently made the situation worse by letting her stay overnight, but what did it mean that Montparnasse "put her in her place?" Enjolras shuttered just thinking about what it could mean, and the more he thought about it, the more it angered him. But he couldn't dwell on it, he needed to do his job. So, he pushed onwards until he stopped in front of the rowdy group of men.

Enjolras knew he couldn't let Montparnasse or any of his friends know that he knew Éponine. For if they did, her safety with him would be compromised. It was as simple as that; this was her only place of safety and if he dared let on that he knew her, she would never be safe here or with him again. He couldn't do that to her, so he knew he had to keep silent. But the curiosity of what they were saying about her intrigued him. He needed to know what happened to her and he needed to know exactly what they meant by "put her in her place?"

He stopped in front of them curtly, his mouth falling dry as he tried to open his jaw to talk. They all stopped talking abruptly as he approached and stared at him ferociously. Forcing himself to speak, Enjolras finally found the words. "What can I get you to drink?" he asked, driving the words from his mouth and dropping them in the air like acid bombs.

The four men continued to eye the bartender with gazes boring into him, as if they could see straight past his façade. Enjolras gulped internally wondering if they really could see through him. He ran a quick mental checklist in his head seeing if anything was an indication that he knew Éponine or that she frequented her time here. But he came up empty realizing there could possibly be no way they could connect him to her.

Montparnasse went to open his mouth.

"Uh...get me a Sam Adam's Octoberfest," Brujon interjected, cutting off Montparnasse from his whatever his train of thought was.

"Make that two," Claquesous added in his usual gruff tone.

Enjolras nodded before Babet finally made up his mind. "Get me...a...shot of Bourbon," he said.

"And for you," Enjolras paused before choking out, "...sir?"

Montparnasse eyed past Enjolras to the endless supply of liquor on the shelves behind him, not seemingly interested in the bartender at all. He rubbed his chin as he contemplated. Enjolras' eyes went wide as he watched Montparnasse rub his chin with his right hand. His knuckles were badly bruised and Enjolras right away knew what from. His stomach clenched at the thought and he then realized he missed what Montparnasse said.

"I'm sorry...what?"

Montparnasse sent him a glare and set his jaw. "I said, just get me a Seven and Seven."

The bartender nodded as steadily as he could before forcing his feet to move away in order to get them the drinks. Yet, he stayed within earshot of them, making sure he could listen in on their conversation.

"So, 'Parnasse," Enjolras could hear Claquesous start, "You were in the middle of telling us - "

"Yeah! So, did she tell you or not?" Babet grinned eagerly.

Montparnasse slammed his hand against the counter lightly. "Would you believe after all that, the bitch still wouldn't tell me?"

"Even after?" Babet asked, eyes glued to Montparnasse along with the rest of the group's.

"No! She passed out right as I was getting somewhere with her."

Enjolras dropped the beer bottle in his hand and it shattered to the floor; his stomach lurching at their words. Just the mere thought that Éponine was somewhere right now, lying on the ground helpless all because of her husband, made him livid. And her husband had the _nerve_ to abandon her to come to the bar for a drink.

Every conversation halted for a moment as the people turned to look at Enjolras who now stood red-faced, partly from the embarrassment and partly from the anger building inside him. "Crap," he muttered under his breath, dropping to the floor to pick up the glass.

"That's _twice_ tonight, Enj!" everyone could hear Courfeyrac shout as he finished up taking a customer's order and headed over to help his fellow workmate.

Enjolras could hear a slight chuckle from Éponine's husband and when he slowly turned his eyes up to look at him, Montparnasse just sent him a mocking glance before resuming his conversation with his friends.

"I know...sorry..." Enjolras muttered again to Courfeyrac as he resumed picking up the pieces and cleaning up the spilled beer. His hands were shaking the more he thought about Éponine lying unconscious somewhere, defenseless and beaten - as he was positive she was.

"Yeah, but I'm telling you guys," he heard Montparnasse begin to say before he dropped his voice down low so that Enjolras had to strain to hear him, "I was rock hard by the time I was finished with her..." The group chuckled and grinned viciously the more Enjolras' stomach did flips. He felt like he could throw up right that second. "...so of course I had to sit on the couch and take care of it," he finished.

"Why didn't you just have sex with her?" Brujon asked as if it was the most obvious piece of information.

"I told you she passed out."

"So? You're gonna let that stop you?"

"Think about it," Claquesous cut in, "She can't fight back and you can do whatever you want to her - "

"It doesn't even matter if she can fight back or not," Brujon cut him back off. "She's _your_ wife. You can do whatever the hell you want with her whenever the hell you want it. And if she fights back, you just put her in her place again."

Montparnasse fell silent; he hadn't considered this before, but they had a point. He smirked thinking about it. "Yeah," he scoffed, "guess I can."

At this time, Courfeyrac had helped finish cleaning up the spilled beer so Enjolras could make the last of the drinks. Cautiously now, he made his way over to the group and began distributing the drinks. He kept his eyes on his hands, watching as they sightly trembled while he passed them out.

"You new here, boy?" Brujon jeered.

Enjolras just shook his head under the harsh gaze. "Almost a year I've worked here," he spoke softly.

He could hear Montparnasse scoff as he watched him take a sip of his drink. "...maybe you should look into a new job then," Montparnasse muttered into the glass.

Enjolras ground his teeth together and glared at Montparnasse with enough intensity it could've bore holes straight through his face. "...and maybe you should look into a new wife," he mumbled, not trying to be subtle about it at all as he turned to walk away.

The slam of a glass against the counter made Enjolras whip back around to face the group. "What the hell did you just say to me?" Montparnasse seethed through his teeth, suppressing the rage that was building once again.

Enjolras paused for a moment, considering whether or not to turn around and answer him. He thought about all the times Éponine would hide her bruises from him, all the times she would hurt because of her husband and thus, he wondered if provoking Montparnasse was really a good idea. _Answer him, for her sake,_ he told himself. _Don't make him mad._

"I _said_, maybe you should look into a new wife," he repeated himself icily, but this time, refusing to look at him as he kept his eyes fixed on the counter.

"Well, maybe you should stay out of other people's business, huh?" Montparnasse spit out.

Enjolras clenched and unclenched his fist by his side once, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face. As much as he wanted to right then, he couldn't give up the fact he knew Éponine. For if he did, he knew just how badly it would end for him. That fact would only provoke Montparnasse further, it would open something far greater than Enjolras could handle. And judging by the earlier conversation, Éponine had not given up the fact that she was with Enjolras either. So he decided he would do right by her and he would firmly keep their secret. "Maybe you should just learn some respect for those who make your life a little better, huh?" he finally decided on saying as opposed to every other curse word and insult he wanted to spit in Montparnasse's face.

"What the hell is your problem?" Montparnasse snapped, adding, "Mind your own damn business for God's sake," under his breath. He looked to his left at Brujon and wrinkled his nose in disgust at Enjolras. "Do you believe this guy?" he asked his friend. Brujon held a look to Enjolras that could kill, yet he said nothing.

"What's _my_ problem?" Enjolras asked pointedly. "I think that's what you should be asking yourself."

"Oh what? Now some asshole, low-rate bartender is seriously accusing me of having a problem?"

Enjolras was furious. His face was turning bright red just from the sheer amount of anger he was controlling. He wanted to slaughter Montparnasse for everything he had done and for everything he would do. "Do _not_ speak to me like that, _sir_," he bit out acerbically, adding the formal title almost as an afterthought.

"And now you're telling me how I can and can't speak to you? What the heck happened to 'the customer is always right?' Huh?" Montparnasse said mockingly. "Or does that rule not apply in this bar?" He didn't give Enjolras time to answer before he continued, "Listen, I'm not the one picking a fight here. _You're_ the one bringing up my wife when you don't even know the first thing about my marriage!"

"Well, when it's the customer who becomes an ass, then he's wrong," Enjolras snapped angrily, choosing to ignore and not comment about Montparnasse and Éponine's marriage further. He refused to drag her into his anger with her husband.

"_Me_? An ass? _I'm_ not the one picking a fight over nothing!"

Brujon asserted himself in between the two dueling men. "Look, kid, don't you have something better to do than harass us anyway, like _your job_?" he remarked snidely.

Enjolras looked appalled at his comment but before he had a chance to speak, Montparnasse cut him off, "Yeah, why don't you just go back to breaking beer bottles and pretending you know how to bartend."

Enjolras had had enough. He lunged over the counter, hands hooked, and grabbed the collar of Montparnasse's shirt. "You listen to me and you listen good - "

"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac yelled, approaching the situation. He reached for Enjolras, pulling him back by his shoulders and away from Montparnasse. Reluctantly, Enjolras let go of his shirt and stumbled back. "I'm so sorry, sir," Courfeyrac apologized to Montparnasse, reaching over the counter and straightening his shirt back into place. "I'm very sorry," he mumbled again. "Enjolras just isn't himself tonight. Drinks are on the house tonight, alright? Again, I apologize for his behavior."

"Are you the manager?" Babet asked, a bit exasperated with the whole ordeal himself.

Courfeyrac nodded to him.

Montparnasse scoffed. "Then I'd think about hiring some new staff if I were you," he muttered with a sidelong glare to Enjolras.

Enjolras could only clench his teeth as he held back every desire in him that told him to reach out and choke Montparnasse until he was blue in the face.

"Right," was all Courfeyrac finally said. Abruptly, he turned around, shoving a hand into Enjolras' chest and pushing him into the back room.

Once the door shut behind them completely, Courfeyrac scowled to Enjolras, folding his arms across his chest. "What the hell was that?" he snapped.

"Courf! Seriously! Courf, that's Éponine's husband out there!" Enjolras flustered, arms flying and hands shaking.

"So what? Because of your little stunt, I had to give them all free drinks - "

"Look, I'm sorry. But the things he was saying about Éponine - "

"I don't care! That's not your place. That's not your business! Were they harming you? No! They were _talking_. You had no right to go over there and start yelling at them! This is a place of business, Enj! You think if the boss saw you, he'd keep you around after that?" He paused waiting for Enjolras to interrupt again, but when Enjolras didn't say anything, he continued, "Well, he wouldn't. You're lucky it was only me here tonight. And you're lucky that I'm not going to say anything to him about this. Now you're going to have to go back out there and _apologize _to him."

"Courf," Enjolras croaked out in a cracked voice, "I can't do that. I can't just pretend everything is okay. I can't just sit here and do nothing!" He sounded like there were tears welling up in his eyes, but his face was still so red, it was hard to tell. "I can't just let him get away with this. I have to do something - "

"Well picking a fight with him was not your smartest move."

"You just don't get it! You don't get it! Éponine is lying somewhere unconscious right now, and that bastard is having a drink in a bar! I can't - I just…I _will not_ apologize to that scumbag." He dropped his gaze to the floor, not wanting Courfeyrac to see his eyes so filled with emotion. "I'm sorry," he turned around and stormed out of the back room.

"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac shouted, running after him. "Enj! Where are you going?"

Enjolras grabbed his coat from under the bar counter, not making any eye contact with the group he knew was still sitting there. "I just need the rest if the night off Courf, I'm sorry, I just can't." Without another word, Enjolras stomped his way out of the bar and into the frozen air.

He stormed down the block, lost in thought as he tried to calm his anger. He fisted his coat in his hands as he treaded heavily down the sidewalk, ready to tear it to shreds just to abate his rage. He wasn't aware of anything around him; his only thought revolved around Éponine and her sick husband. The wind whipped against his burning cheeks and the chill finally reached his bones; it was only then he realized how badly it was snowing. The white snowflakes stuck out against the black backdrop of the sky like fireflies, flying around as if they were all in a hurry to race to the ground. Enjolras finally shrugged his coat on, realizing how cold it actually was and shoved his hands in the pockets.

Éponine was out there somewhere. Somewhere where no one could help her. Somewhere where she was dying of pain; a pain inflicted by the hands of her husband - the one she supposedly loved. How could she love that monster? How could she possibly _love_ someone like that? But that was it, she didn't even know that what he was doing to her was wrong? She had a been a victim her entire life and she just assumed it was all normal.

Enjolras needed to help her. He wanted to make her see the truth. He wanted to love her as much as she should be loved, as much as she deserved to be loved. But he didn't even know where to find her. As far as he knew, she was just another snowflake lost along with the rest of them, drifting along and waiting to make a decent to earth. It was utterly impossible to find her. The only place he knew to find her was her job. And so he decided that the next opportunity he had, he would go to her job and see her. But still that decision didn't help the hole growing in his heart, for she needed help _now_, not tomorrow. He was at a loss, how would he ever be able to find her now?

So he did the only thing he could do, he walked. He walked up and down every street in the brisk air, not worrying about catching a cold or hypothermia. He didn't care. He just knew he couldn't go home knowing that she was out there somewhere in harm's way, lying on the walkway to death's door.

So he walked on, his black coat collecting snowflakes and camouflaging him into the night.

…

As her eyes finally fluttered open, she could barely see anything through her blurred vision. She couldn't hear anything except for an incessant ringing in her ears, louder than anything she had ever heard before, piercing through her skull and making her wish she was still asleep. Her world was sideways with the wood floor lying vertically on the right side of her vision and the hallway that led to the bedroom laying horizontally. When she finally realized her body position, she was laying on on her stomach on top of her left arm with her left hand resting underneath her neck. Her right arm was bent by her side, palm down next to her head, and her cheek flat against the floor.

The first thing she tried to do was get up off her arm, but when trying to lift her head caused too much pain for her to bear, she settled on trying to push herself up with her right hand. She pushed against the floor with all the strength she could muster and finally brought her head up as her hair fell over her face. She moved herself up enough so that she was sitting on all fours again. This position caused a rush of memory to wash over her and she winced feeling the memory of the sting of the belt against her skin. Slowly, she lowered herself onto her calves as much as her screaming body would allow. But even resting her buttocks against the smooth skin of her calves was intolerable.

Her vision was adjusting, gingerly getting less fuzzy the more she moved about. Yet the ringing in her ears only seemed to increase.

Her head lolled as she forced herself to keep it upright as much as she could but the weight of her eyelids was only bringing her head down further. The pounding in her head only seemed to increase with each movement. It felt as if someone was crushing her skull between two metal plates. Her head fell forward and she looked down at her stark body, suddenly wondering if she might have been imagining the purple and red hue it was giving off.

Éponine was having trouble remembering clearly everything that had transpired just previously. She was just so confused. She didn't know what time it was or how long she had been out for. She closed her eyes thinking of the last few things in her memory before it all went black. She could see the flashes of the belt in her mind, see the floor as she desperately stared at it just as he instructed. She could feel the sting of the leather as it made contact across her back, her arms, her thighs, her spine and his favorite spot - her butt. The last thing she remembered seeing was Montparnasse's fierce gaze, his baring teeth as his lips curved upwards, and the belt as he pulled it back and let it go against the side of her head. Her eyes snapped open feeling was if it was happening again. She must've gasped for once she did, the sound finally started to return to her ears. Soon, she began to hear a slight chatter of happy woman talking and then a low grunt from somewhere close by.

Teetering, she leaned forward and stood herself to her feet. And when she stood up and peered around, she realized the source of the woman chattering was coming from a talk show on the television and Montparnasse was sitting contentedly on the couch watching it. She gripped the back of the couch to keep herself from falling over as every muscle in her ached and even the slightest movements seemed to cause her much pain.

"Good morning, 'Ponine," Montparnasse addressed, not even turning his head around to look at her. "Glad to see you're finally awake."

She didn't answer him, instead she lifted her heavy eyes to see the light flooding in from the side of the shades in the window. So it was morning. She must have slept there all night. Her mind was a whirlwind before she really could even comprehend the fact that her husband let her sleep on the floor, unclothed and in pain, _all night_. He didn't even give her a blanket, or a pillow, or even move her to the couch. The least he could have done was check on the welts she could feel forming on her skin, but she was almost positive he didn't even do that. It angered her to even think about how he didn't help her. Did he even care about her anymore? Yet, she couldn't find the words to tell him of her anger, so she simply turned around and began to head to the bedroom.

"Where are you going?" he asked icily in a stern tone, hearing her bare feet begin to pad away from him. The chill of his words was enough to freeze her immobile.

She looked back at him but still didn't respond, since she just couldn't find the words to. The only thing she felt like she could do was collapse on the ground again at any second. When he turned his head around to look at her, hearing nothing from her, she felt the fear sink in. Then it hit her like the hundreds of blows she had received in the past before.

She was scared of her husband.

Montparnasse stood to his feet and she took a step backwards. She backed herself up as he continued walking towards her until she slammed her back into the wall. "Well, 'Ponine, _now_ will you tell me where you were yesterday?" he said in a sweet voice as he sauntered his way to her until he was standing merely two inches from her.

Her heart was beating erratically in her chest and all she could do was stare back at him with fear swarming in her eyes. Suddenly, it felt like he was too close for comfort. The way he loomed over her - fully clothed - contrasting against her unclad body made his ascendency all the more prominent. Subconsciously, her arms folded over herself across her chest.

He smirked at her movements as he latched onto her forearms. "What? You're not embarrassed now, are you?" he jibed as his hands began to pull her arms away from herself but she held them firmly. His smirk fell from his lips as he roughly tugged at her arms. Not wanting to make him angrier, Éponine relented and dropped her arms to her side. Suddenly, the smirk found its way back to his features for a brief moment before it disappeared all together. "Enough games, Éponine. Where were you yesterday?"

Her bottom lip began to tremble the more she tried to hide her fear. The walls of the living room began to fade away, being replaced with ropes and a padded floor. It was then she could feel the living room become a boxing ring once more. She knew her silence would not be taken lightly by him but she couldn't come up with anything to say. The fear was eating her alive the more his eyes only stared her down.

In a spilt second, he raised his hand to slap her but she dropped to the floor before his hand could make contact with her. She curled herself into a ball at his feet, her arms covering her head as she made herself as small as possible. Her body rocked back and forth with silent sobs which only increased the anger on Montparnasse's part.

He clasped her arm securely, yanking her to her feet and dragging her down the hallway to the bedroom. Bursting open the door with her in a vise-grip, he threw her onto the bed.

Montparnasse stood on the side of the bed, watching her tuck her knees into her chest and hide her head from his sight. But he grabbed a handful of her hair pulling her head back out from between her knees. He bent his head down close to her ear and whispered deadly, "You're gonna wish you _never_ lied to me."

In the next moment, he released her and as he grabbed the cordless phone from the hook on the nightstand. He swooped himself onto the bed and she listened as he dialed in a number until she could faintly hear a ringing.

He scooted himself close to her as she stilled herself and stayed closed up. Gently, he began stroking her hair. The compassionate movements feeling unpleasant to her.

"Hello?" she heard a loud voice pick up on the other end of the line.

"Oh, hello Mr. Gallagher. This is Mr. Moreaux, Éponine's husband," Montparnasse spoke sweetly into the receiver.

Éponine lifted her head just minimally, curious as to why Montparnasse was calling her boss. Montparnasse merely sent her a smile back as he kept stroking her hair. A little too forcefully, he pushed her head back down against the bed.

"Yes, well the reason I'm calling is because last night I had to take Éponine into the hospital. We were there all night and it seems she has contracted Viral Meningitis...oh yes, I know, it's awful...high fever and she's been vomiting...well the doctors sent her home this morning, told her to get plenty of bed rest, gave her some medication...Oh yes of course, I've been making sure..." He pulled the phone away from his ear just enough to speak to Éponine without Mr. Gallagher really hearing. "Hear that, 'Ponine? Mr. Gallagher says to drink plenty of fluids." He put the phone back to his ear and his hand continued stroking her hair. "Yes, so I don't know when she will be back in...the doctors said seven to ten days...I know, I know...oh but thank you...Éponine would really appreciate that...yes, yes," he chuckled, "I'm taking good care of her. Don't worry, I took today off just so I could stay home with her...yes...well thank you very much...I'll be sure to tell her...have a good day," he finished as he pressed the button on the phone to hang up.

He reached over her and placed the phone back on the dock.

"Mr. Gallagher says to feel better. He says to 'take all the time you need,' He's worried about you now..."

"Why did you do that?" she rasped.

Montparnasse grinned finally hearing her speak. He leaned back against the headboard of the bed and began tracing his fingers along her shoulder and down her spine. She shivered underneath his touch and so his hands found her hair again. "I couldn't have you going to work looking like this, now could I? Someone would surely ask what happened...and then what would you tell them? That you needed to be punished for disobeying me? For lying to your husband? For sneaking around and disrespecting me?" His fingers fisted in her hair the more the anger rose in his words and she winced at the pain until he released her abruptly. "No, you wouldn't do that...so you'll stay home until your lashes heal. And I'll make sure you stay home...I have my ways, don't forget."

Montparnasse moved away from her and slid off the bed. He came around to her and stood in front of her. She stayed there frightened, not looking up to him, scared that he might mistake her eye contact as a challenge. Slowly, he leaned his head down close to hers and she shut her eyes nervously, but he only placed a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "You set one foot outside this house, and I'll break your arm...you understand me?" Éponine kept her eyes shut tight as she nodded rapidly. He chuckled lowly as he stroked her hair one final time. "Now get some rest, mon chouchou, I bet you're tired."

He turned on his heel and walked away. Feeling his presence leave her, Éponine let the tears falls over her eyelids now, permitting the fear to finally spill out of her and wet the comforter beneath her.

She heard the door squeak and she stopped crying immediately.

"Oh and 'Ponine," Montparnasse called from across the room. "Before I forget to tell you, your father called early this morning," he paused, gauging a reaction from her, "he'll be visiting next weekend."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you all so much. And before I forget, Just a Guest asked me what song in Oliver! was Enjolras' mother's favorite from Chapter 13, and when I had wrote that scene I ****immediately was thinking of "Who Will Buy?" I don't know why…but I envisioned the scene with that song playing. **

**I don't normally do this but just to let these people know I really appreciate them, I want to send a shout out to Mary, Break This Spell626, frustratedstudent, Alex-Samsprout, clairlune, and PhantomoftheBarricade1832 for really supporting this story, sitting and talking to me about this story, and for just making me feel like less of a sadistic person for writing it all. Thank you guys so much!**

**And to "Someone Thankful": Please please please make an account and PM me, I would truly love to talk with you more about what you said to me. Please, my heart goes out to you and your friend. Just please.**


	16. Of Gaslighting

**A/N: As always, I would like to thank everyone for their continued support in this fic. Here is my next chapter, with not a lot of AN because I'm so tired…and I've been trying to keep the wait down, but now I'm exhausted...**

**Not much violence in this chapter, but its there. Warnings for sexual themes and violence. **

**If you all could do me a favor, I would SOO MUCH appreciate it. I just posted a short outtake from this verse called Of Perry Ellis and Pea Coats. and it would mean a lot if you could read that as well. It deals with Eponine and Montparnasse's relationship in the beginning and just provides some background to things that won't really get a chance to be explained in this novel. **

**It would mean a lot if you could look at that for me…thank you all so much! **

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 16 - Of Gaslighting

...

"You're my wife. I can do whatever the hell I want with you whenever the hell I want it."

Those words echoed throughout her mind as she laid curled on the bed with only her shirt on. He had said those words to her each time she tried to refuse him, and always she was never able to refute that argument. Those words were the truth, they were the law. Her eyes were as wet as the spot between her legs now and the pain radiating through her lower half was almost unbearable.

It had been seven days. Seven brutal, agonizing, and torturous days and that meant she had not left the house in exactly seven days. It also meant that her father would be coming tonight to spend the weekend. She shuttered at the impending weekend with her father. Her father was always a strict one and this time Montparnasse had been strict with her too; no matter what he did, he would not give in. But for some reason - which Éponine couldn't fathom - her being home all day made Montparnasse more aroused, demanding sex from her at most three times a day. This morning in particular, he asked for a "quick one" before he dressed and left for work promptly at 7:30. But for the past seven days, he would come home from work, stressed and anxious, and proceed to undress her before she could even respond with a "hello." The first night it happened, Éponine tried to refuse him, saying how she was "too tired" to which he replied with:

"You've been home all day, how in the world are you tired?"

After a threat or two and him grasping her wrist in a bone crushing hold, he forced her to consent. Her consenting was the wisest course of action for her safety as he left her that night with no more bruises than she already had. However, every night when he was finished with her and he would come down from his high, he would lean over to her and whisper:

"So will you tell me where you were?"

Éponine never had an answer and she refused to give him one. Some nights he would slap her for not answering and other nights he would leave her be. He ran hot and cold and Éponine never knew which one he might be next. She started to think that the nights she gave him less of a problem and preformed well for him were the nights she wouldn't receive the slap. Well, she hoped that was what it was. But every night it was different and each night it seemed he got a bit rougher with her. He cared less and less about her pleasure and more about himself. For the times she didn't satisfy him to his liking, he was never afraid to add another bruise to her collection. But the bruises he added were always around her midsection, her hips, and her thighs - places that were easily coverable. Then when he would have his fill of her, he would fall asleep. Éponine was sure to notice that he never cuddled like he used to and it saddened her; she felt used.

Then, the morning would come, he would leave for work, she would stay home and the same thing would happen the next day. So how did he know she didn't leave the house while he was at work? Easy, Babet would come over shortly before Montparnasse left for work and "babysit" Éponine until he came home again. Of course, Montparnasse made sure to let Éponine know he still trusted her, but this was his own precaution, for he feared the worst. It was only in case she might have been sleeping around, he couldn't let her run off and into another man's arms while he wasn't home. And so he turned to Babet.

Likewise, it was easy for Babet to spend all day with Éponine. He was a stoner anyway, who would do freelance work for landscapers and moving companies so he readily accepted when Montparnasse offered to pay him for his services. Éponine would then ruefully spend the day with Babet and avoid him the best she could. And she was thankful for those few times she would accidentally do something to anger Babet - such as not bring him lunch in a timely fashion or change the channel on him - and he would never strike her. She was always expecting it and she was always ready for it. Instead, he would yell at her with an insult or two and then carry on as if nothing had happened. But that was the thing she loved about Babet - he never hit a woman. Yes, he was an odd one Éponine knew, but she would take his oddness over being hit any day.

She could hear Babet come into the house as Montparnasse left for the day.

"Éponine?" he called out to her.

Begrudgingly, she picked herself up off the bed and rested on her elbows. "Don't come in, I'm not dressed," she called back to him through the door. "I'll be out in a bit."

She listened to his feet shuffle away from the bedroom door before heaving a sigh. Falling back on the pillows, she gazed out the french doors of her bedroom that led to the porch. For a moment, she thought about leaving. But where would she go? To see Enjolras?

She had completely forgotten about Enjolras! She hadn't spoken to him since she left his apartment angry and annoyed that he never woke her. Yes, it was his fault that she couldn't leave the house right now. It was all his fault. If she never agreed to secretly be friends with him - she paused, realizing - no, it was her fault. _She_ had agreed to be secret friends with him. This wasn't Enjolras' fault. She could have said "no" to him at any time, but instead she always agreed, and instead she lied to her husband. Her husband.

Éponine shut her eyes tightly. Montparnasse was only like this because of her. She was changing him, getting rid of her sweet and caring husband and replacing him for this apathetic one. It was all her fault. All her fault. The thought was enough to let the tears form in her eyes. She did this to herself. Bringing her hands up to her face to wipe her eyes, she winced when she tried to move the fingers on her left hand.

Her two middle fingers seared in pain when she tried to bend them. But then she remembered in last night's moment of ecstasy for Montparnasse, he grabbed her fingers and pulled them backwards until his peak ended. She tried to move them again but gave up, not wanting to cause herself any more pain for they were surely broken.

She rolled onto her side, suppressing the tears that were on the verge of her eyelids. But after a moment of trying to be strong, her defenses fell. She curled up, bringing her pillow to her chest and hugging it while she sobbed. She cried for her broken fingers, for her own shortcoming, for her caged life, for Enjolras, and most of all, for her husband. She missed him. She missed everything about the way he used to be. So she closed her eyes and tried to remember him - the days when he looked at her as if she was center of his world, his light in the dark, and the only thing he loved.

...

_It had been a long and grueling day. The last bell was going to ring at any moment and finally Éponine would be free for the day. Though she didn't really want to go home - she knew that her father would be waiting with his anger about how she never did her chores from the previous night. But she couldn't help it, her science project was due tomorrow - today, now - and she was working on it alone. That wasn't her fault either, it had only been because no one partnered with her; well, no one ever partnered with her. She didn't have any friends, so she kept to herself, most of the kids assumed she was weird or they just flatly ignored her. But she didn't complain much about that. It was senior year and she only had to deal with these kids for another few months, then she would be liberated. And even if she didn't have friends in school, she had her siblings and the love of her life: her boyfriend, Montparnasse._

_However, she couldn't wait for the clock to move any faster. She was done with being in school for she had had an awful day, more or less, week. When she handed her science project in today, hers seemed to fall short of expectation. The other student's ones - the ones who had partners - were much more elaborate and creative and descriptive - and Éponine's, well her's was just alright, meaning it met the minimum qualifications. She tried, and that was all she could say about it. Then, it was another day with no lunch because she didn't have the money to buy any and it's not like her mother would make her lunch either. When the afternoon came around, Éponine had a test that she had forgotten about which meant she didn't study. But she had only forgotten because she had been worried all week about Gavroche and his cough. But what was another failing grade to add to the pile? And on top of it all, Éponine had not heard from Montparnasse at all. The last he said to her was that he had been busy with midterms for his college classes. It was true, she was the one who encouraged him to go to college and thus she wouldn't blame him for wanting to do well on his midterms._

_So in all, it had been a long and grueling week. Éponine was ready to just leave it all behind for the weekend. Finally, the bell rung and every student made a mad dash for the hallways like moths to a flame. They scurried about as if that flame had toppled over and was now burning the building. Éponine took her time to avoid the stampede, for she knew better._

_Walking out the main doors to the school gingerly, she watched all the other students talking and laughing in their cliques. Some girls hugged each other, saying goodbye and catching up on all the latest gossip. The boys stuck together as well discussing sports and games. Éponine tried to pay them no mind, but it was all just so damn annoying._

_As she took a step down the main stairs at the front entrance to the school, Éponine laid her gaze on a familiar set of eyes. Suddenly, a smile broke across her face and her feet started running toward him, pushing her way through any students and making a beeline for the one person she needed._

_His arms were spread open for her as she dropped her bag to the ground and leaped into them and he twirled her around, knees bent and legs in the air._

_"I missed you," she whispered into his neck as he set her back down on the ground._

_"I missed you too, 'Ponine," Montparnasse whispered back to her, still holding her in his arms. "'Zelma told me you were having a bad week - "_

_"You can say that again," she replied, rolling her eyes to Montparnasse and snubbing her nose up at the stares she was receiving from the corner of her eye. She almost felt validated at being seen at school with Montparnasse. For the first time she felt cool, like she was a step above all these other girls; for she had an actual life outside of school with her own boyfriend - and an older boyfriend at that._

_"Well, that's why I'm here. Tonight, we celebrate!" he cheered with his own captivating grin._

_"Celebrate what?"_

_His smile seemed to even broaden as hers grew more confused. "The teacher for my Managerial Statistics class posted our Midterm grades online and..."_

_"...annnnd?"_

_"I got an A!"_

_Éponine leaped forward in his arms and placed a kiss to his lips. "Ah! I'm so happy for you, 'Parnasse!" she beamed as she pulled back from his lips. "I knew you could do it!"_

_He rested his forehead against hers and latched his fingers together around the small of her back. "All because of you," he spoke softly, before placing another kiss to her lips. All of a sudden, his eyes lit up in remembering something. He let go of her back and reached into his coat pocket. "Aw," he sighed. "It got a bit crushed when I picked you up before," he explained as he pulled out a flattened red rose._

_Éponine smiled radiantly and took the rose from his hand. "No, it's perfect. Thank you!" She flung herself at him again, hugging him and never wanting to let go. "Ow," she suddenly gasped as she pulled back a bit from him. She looked to her hand to see a streak of blood trickle down her finger._

_Montparnasse frowned as he grabbed her hand tenderly and kissed her blood-stained finger. "Sorry about that," he murmured._

_"No," she smiled as she fell against his chest again. "The rose is perfect even with its thorns, just like you," she mumbled, breathing him in and sighing in contentment._

...

Those days were over now. Unfortunately, this was the sad truth that Éponine needed to realize. No more did he bring her flowers or plan something special for her because she was having a bad week. No, that just didn't happen anymore. Instead, he brought her more bruises and planned nights with his pleasure in mind. He was no longer a rose who only pricked her finger once in a while, now, he was only all thorns.

Éponine sniveled one last time before she slipped herself from the bed and got to her feet. Her entire body ached on the first step, despite her bruises healing to less noticeable colors. Her legs were stiff and her back cracked due to too much arching the night before. Yet even with her lashes healing, every press on her skin produced a pain that made her want to cry out.

Despite all of the pain in her body and her heart, she walked herself about the room, gathering her clothes for another day at home. Opening up the closet, she found a sweatshirt that looked comfortable enough for the chilly day. She dropped to the floor to search for her moccasins when her eye caught something stuffed in the back of the closet, beneath all her shoes. She dug through her miscellaneous bottom-of-the-closet items and then smiled upon seeing her stash of musicals. Éponine fell to her bum and began looking through all of them, remembering how she always kept them hidden from Montparnasse. Smiling to herself, she wondered if Babet might like to watch one; well she'd ask - or beg, if it came down to it. Musicals just always had a way of making her feel better and that was all she really wanted at this moment.

She crept into the living room to see Babet seated on the couch, watching TV, and had helped himself to a glass of orange juice - but she didn't mind, at least he didn't grab a beer.

"Babet?" she called timidly.

His sunken eyes turned up to look at her.

"Um...I was wondering if...maybe you wanted to watch a movie?"

He shrugged before taking another gulp from the glass. "What did you have in mind?"

"Well," she said excitedly, "I really wanted to watch a musical - " He scoffed, cutting her off, but she wasn't deterred. "No, really, I think I have one you might like."

Babet rolled his eyes, "What?"

She pulled the DVD from behind her back and grinned widely. "_Hair_!"

He grunted and turned his attention back to the television.

"Please?" she begged, taking a seat on the couch with him. "Oh, please can we watch it? It's not even that long, I know you'll love it too."

"If it'll get you to shut up, fine, then put it in," he answered brusquely.

Éponine smiled, content with her victory. She put the DVD in and took a seat back on the couch, curling her legs under her and snuggling against a pillow.

"This looks stupid," he remarked within the first shot of the film.

"It gets better, I promise. Just keep watching."

In only another five minutes, Babet was laughing hysterically to the dancing and the abrupt singing. Éponine was even giggling from the amount he was laughing.

"I just even love the horses in this film," she commented, "Even the horses dance!"

"Yeah," he sighed, returning to a normal state from his bellowing laughter. "How do they get them to do that?"

"Training, I guess. But it's so beautiful just to watch."

The movie continued and Babet could barely keep still by how much he was enjoying this film. Even when he thought a scene was stupid, or executed unrealistically, he always had a comment to say that even made Éponine giggle. Or he would even comment to the characters, never afraid to tell them they just made a stupid decision. "Of course he's gonna start singing again!" he laughed, rolling his eyes.

"It's a musical, Babet! Of course!"

"Of course," he agreed, sarcastically, with a hint of enjoyment.

A little more than halfway through the film, when his laughing has come under control, Babet pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it up.

Éponine grimaced as she watched him. She cleared her throat subtly. "Um, Babet," she started very shyly, "I-I can pause the film if you'd like to go outside with that..." She trailed off, looking anywhere but his face.

"What? 'Parnasse doesn't smoke in here?"

"Well...well...he really doesn't anymore, but when he's stressed, he'll smoke on the porch. Um...so, would that be alright?" She was afraid of his answer, she was afraid that he would call Montparnasse and not even regard her, and she was afraid that he would finally snap and hurt her.

Babet gave her a bit of a dirty look as he pulled the cigarette from his lips and smushed it against the table next to the couch. "Happy?" he asked with a small mocking undertone.

She can't say she was pleased by his choice to put the cigarette out on her furniture, but she was thrilled that he obliged her wishes. "Thank you," she squeaked out.

They both turned their attention back to the film and all returned to normal. The small riff seemed to have disappeared, just vanish into thin air as he didn't speak of the incident again. Instead, he continued watching the film as if it never happened and Éponine even smiled as he laughed some more.

Babet glanced over at Éponine at one point, who was just as engrossed in the film as he was. She looked so small all curled up and he would never admit it out loud, but she even looked cute. She had been so excited to watch this stupid movie - one that he actually found himself quite enjoying. Even when she asked him to put out the cigarette, his heart saddened as he realized how terrified she was to just ask him to do something so simple. It made him understand how easy it was for Montparnasse to hurt her, she was just so meek and innocent. But it made him wonder why Montparnasse hurt her so much. She never did any harm, and if she did, it wasn't purposefully. He had known Éponine since she was a preteen, he had watched her grow up and he knew her life wasn't fair. She deserved better, but he sighed, knowing she would never get the better she deserved. _Poor child,_ was all he could think.

...

It was 6:15. Montparnasse would be home in exactly fifteen minutes and Éponine rushed about the kitchen to get dinner on the table. Her father would be coming at 8:00 too, but luckily during the day she had made up the guest room for him and took out towels and fresh sheets for him. She had taken care of all the laundry and gotten the house cleaned up, even down to mopping the floors. Now, all that was left to do was get dinner on the table before Montparnasse yelled at her for that. She clambered around the kitchen, stirring the pasta while setting the plates.

Her left hand was throbbing erratically. It had been difficult for her to move it all day, but she pushed through the pain to get the chores completed. Éponine rushed to the stove, seeing the pasta start to bubble over the top, but at the same time the timer to the oven went off signaling that the roast was done. She quickly shut the burner off and grabbed two potholders to take out the roast from the oven. Flipping open the oven, she reached in to grab the pan before it burned but since she couldn't hold the pan effectively with her left hand, it fell onto the oven door.

"Ouch!" she cried as the sauce from the meat jumped up and hit her skin.

Babet came into the kitchen at all the loud commotion. "What's going on?"

Éponine cradled her injured hand as her eyes met his. "I dropped the pan," she said timidly, on the verge of tears.

Babet intervened, shutting off the oven and proceeding to pick up the pan from the oven door and place it on the table. "It's fine," he announced. "It's salvageable, look it didn't even fall on the floor." He looked back at Éponine to see her nodding unsteadily. "What happened to your hand?" he asked, noticing the way she held it.

"It's nothing," she answered, releasing it and putting her hand behind her back.

He crossed over to her and grabbed her left arm before she could even protest. "It's not nothing, your hand is all swollen. Did you burn it?"

Éponine pulled her hand from his grasp. "I said, it's nothing. Don't worry about it."

"Run it under cold water," he ordered, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards the sink.

"No!" Éponine pulled herself free from him. "I didn't burn it."

Babet stayed still at he watched her intensely. Her eyes told all the answers that her mouth didn't. "Montparnasse?" he questioned harshly.

Éponine stayed silent.

"Well, you gotta tape them up or something, they could be broken. Can't ya see a doctor?"

"I don't have time for that - " she snapped.

"Éponine!"

Both of their heads turned as they heard Montparnasse come into the house. Babet pushed past Éponine abruptly to meet him in the living room.

"How was she?" Montparnasse asked upon seeing Babet. Éponine slowly and reluctantly made her way into the living room to greet her husband.

"Fine, but 'Parnasse - "

"Ah! My 'Ponine, there you are!" her husband smiled with a false over-cheeriness. He seized her by the waist and pulled her close to him. "Dinner smells delightful," he purred as he nibbled on her ear. His lips traced up and down her jawline as she stayed impassive to him. "Mmm..." he murmured in her ear, "So I've been thinking...how about before your dad comes..." He trailed off to kiss her in between pauses of his sentence. "...and after we eat...we take our time in the bedroom..."

"'Parnasse?" Babet tried to interrupt.

"...and since Babet said you've been good today..." he drawled out as his fingers roamed and worked their way to tease up her sweatshirt and finally lift it over her head.

"'Parnasse!" Babet called a bit more sternly.

Montparnasse gave a heavy sigh, lifting his head from the crook of Éponine's neck. "I didn't forget to pay you, Babet," he said irritated, before turning his attention back to his wife.

"No, 'Parnasse, can I speak with you...now?"

He heaved another sigh and let go of Éponine. "I'll be just a minute," he lazily whispered to her and placed a peck to her cheek.

Éponine scurried into the kitchen as soon as she was freed of his embrace. Montparnasse walked with Babet toward the foyer. "So, what do you want? An extra hundred for today? Was she really _that_ much trouble?" he questioned.

Babet shook his head and his hands trembled, much the same way a stoner's does in withdrawal. "No, she wasn't any trouble today..."

"Then what is it?"

"Um...just, I think her fingers might be broken," he said quickly, scratching behind his head and averting Montparnasse's gaze. "But also, just like...take it easy with her, you know. She'll do whatever you want, you know, you don't gotta um...like force her. She's fragile - "

"Are you seriously trying to tell me about _my_ wife?" Montparnasse demanded. "You think I don't know her or something? 'Ponine's tough, she can take it. Like hell I'll take it easy with her, she loves it! Now why don't you stay out of my business. I'm not paying you to tell me about my marriage. Your job is to watch her, that's it," he bellowed. "I'll gladly find someone else to do it if you're too incompetent to." Montparnasse's eyes were blazing as he stuffed the money into Babet's hand and gave him a shove. "Now get outta my house."

Babet left with an empty heart, but knowing he did what he could. He knew better than to try and cross Montparnasse. It would never be worth it in the end.

...

The doorbell rung causing Éponine to jump to her feet from her stationed position on her knees.

"He's here," she said quietly, fixing her clothes back in place and making herself look decent. Montparnasse only responded by rolling his head from one shoulder to the next, exaggeratedly, before he stood to his feet as well. He picked himself up from his seat on the bed and rearranged his clothes as he followed Éponine out of the door.

"Aye! Just look at my 'Ponine! And if it isn't good ol' Montparnasse," her father -Thénardier - greeted as Éponine opened the front door for him. He plopped his bags down in the middle of the foyer and opened his arms out wide. Éponine was left with not much of a choice but to hug him and so she did so out of obligation.

He released her with a pat on her back and fixed his eyes on Montparnasse. "Aye and 'Parnasse! Come give your father-in-law a hug! It's been like what? Four years since I last saw you guys?"

"I'm sure it's only been two," Montparnasse muttered as he gave Thénardier a hug just as he wished.

"Well, it feels like four. Now, 'Ponine, why don't you take my bags to the guest room for me and 'Parnasse will show me to the beer."

Éponine picked up his bags, beginning to sling them over her shoulder and balance them on her meek frame as Montparnasse led him into the living room. "Good to see you to, Dad," she said under her breath.

So Éponine brought his bags into the guest room, listening to her father's bellowed laughter as Montparnasse said something that must have been amusing. _Only a weekend_, she reminded herself as she dropped the bags to the bed. Reluctantly, she joined them in the living room shortly after only to see her father already had downed half of his beer. She took a quiet seat in the arm chair as the two men talked for the rest of the night.

...

The following morning, Éponine was up at the stove by nine o'clock, making waffles as Montparnasse instructed her to do. She heard two feet shuffle into the room and turned her head to see her father. He plopped himself into a seat at the kitchen table and grunted.

"Morning," she said, not in a cheery or friendly tone, but an emotionless one.

"Morning," he muttered back, wiping his sleep-ridden face with his hands. He rubbed the stubble around his chin as he craned his neck to watch Éponine pour the batter into the waffle iron. "Smells good," he mused robotically. "My nose woke me up." He waited for a response from her but Éponine barely even acknowledged him. "'Parnasse was telling me you've been a bit of trouble recently."

Éponine's hands stilled for a moment as she took in his words. "No," she gaped out as her hands began to work again.

"Don't lie to your father now, Éponine," Montparnasse's voice came in from the doorway. "You know very well how much trouble you've been; how much you've had to get punished for it." He slithered around the room and took a seat next to Thénardier at the table.

Éponine wouldn't look at them while she stared down at the batter. She concentrated fully on what she was doing, rather than on them.

"Why don't you share with your father where you were last week," Montparnasse mocked. "Because, even I would love to know."

"She still hasn't told you?" Thénardier asked in a side question to his son-in-law.

"Nope," he responded, popping the "P" in the word just to get under Éponine's skin. The silence that befell the room was deafening. "Twenty-four hours," Montparnasse snapped angrily. He turned his attention to Thénardier, talking directly to him. "She was no where to be found for a full twenty-four hours. She actually had the nerve to leave me a note saying she was at Azelma's." Thénardier scoffed as Éponine found her hands trembling while she tried to only concentrate on mixing the batter. "So, I called Azelma," Montparnasse continued.

"And what did Azelma say?"

"Oh, ready for this? 'Zelma said she hadn't heard from 'Ponine in two years. So, where she was? I don't even know. All the times she told me she was with Azelma, she won't even goddammit tell me where she really was," Montparnasse finished indignantly.

Thénardier grit his teeth, glaring at the back of Éponine's head. "Did you _make_ her tell you?"

"Punished her enough for it. And she still. Won't. Tell. Me."

Éponine's hands were shaking like a leaf as she mechanically swirled the spoon in the batter, swirling and folding it over and over until it became as thin as soup. She opened up the lid to the waffle iron and lifted the bowl to pour in the batter. All she could do was pretend they weren't even there. She knew what was coming, she was bracing for it, but she would not let them get to her. She wouldn't let them mess with her mind. Shakily, she began to pour in the batter over the waffle iron.

"So, where were you, Éponine?" her father's voice rang through the kitchen. She could feel his glare on her as she tried her best to keep her hands steady.

Her heart was thundering and the strain she was putting on her broken fingers caused the bowl to slip and land on the counter, splashing bits of batter all over. "Shoot," she muttered under he breath.

"Éponine..." her father warned.

Éponine bit her lip and with new determination, there was no need for her to be acting like this. Enjolras told her that she was her own person. They cannot control her and there was no reason she should be letting them. She sucked in a breath, reminding herself like a mantra that she could do this. Whipping herself around, she faced the two of them head on, holding her stance. "I don't have to tell you anything! I am my _own_ person and I am entitled to my _own_ life and my _own_ secrets," she shouted, spitting fire across the kitchen floor.

Montparnasse and Thénardier stared at her, stunned at her outburst. Her husband's hands clenched into a fist as he set his jaw.

"Are you gonna let her talk to you like that, 'Parnasse?"

Montparnasse stood up from the table and took a step toward her. Instantly, Éponine regretted her decision to stand up for herself. It wasn't going to get her anywhere in the end, she sadly realized. But she was stubborn, she had always been stubborn, and now that she had gotten herself into this mess, she needed to get herself out of it. Angrily, Éponine stormed past Montparnasse and bolted across the living room to the front door.

"Someone better control _their_ wife," she heard her father eerily say.

She didn't spend too much time waiting to see if Montparnasse answered her father as she made it to the foyer. She thought about grabbing her coat for a split second, but she'd waste too much time trying to put it on, so instead, Éponine grabbed only her keys from the hook and started undoing the locks on the door.

"Éponine," Montparnasse sternly called.

She didn't turn around, she didn't face him, she had one goal in mind: _Make it to your car and think about what happens next later._

She tried to slam the door behind her, but Montparnasse grabbed it as he raced after her. Flying down the stoop stairs, she paced across the driveway to her car. The new December air was crisp, slicing through her shirt and pajama pants like knives and she almost regretted not taking her coat.

Montparnasse didn't chase her, instead he stopped on the stoop. "Éponine!" he called firmly. His strong voice bellowed through the air, making her step falter.

She made it to her car with her rattling keys in hand.

"Éponine." His voice was testing her; calling her to come back to him.

But what was she doing? She was running away from her husband. Yes, the husband she loved and adored. She couldn't possibly be running away from him. She couldn't do this to him. Her hands were trembling as she panicked, trying to find the button on the car key to unlock it. She pulled at the car handle trying to make it open in haste.

"Éponine," he shouted again. There was a slight tremor in his tone as if for a moment he was worried that she was really going to leave him.

Yet, his voice sent a chill straight through her, making her halt her actions. Could she really do it? Could she really just leave him right now, without even a second thought, or a glance back at him, without even thinking of the repercussions or the consequences of her actions? No. It wouldn't be right.

Slowly, she backed away from the car. She dropped her hands to her sides and gracefully walked back to the house - back to her husband and her father.

As soon as she was in arms reach of Montparnasse, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and dragged her back into the house, slamming the front door behind them. He tossed her into the wall like a doll, still pulling at her hair and this time craning her head up to face him.

"You'll always come back to me, my darling," he leered devilishly in her ear. "I _own_ you, and you know it. You think you can pull a stunt like that and get away with it?" His free hand latched onto her throat, pining her to the wall. "I don't think so," he murmured in her ear.

"Let go of her, 'Parnasse," Thénardier's voice broke through.

Montparnasse gave the man a confused expression for a moment, wondering if he was truly being serious. Regretfully, he let go of Éponine with a shove.

Éponine righted herself up, cornered against the wall by her father and Montparnasse.

"Will you tell us where you were, 'Ponine?" her father asked evenly.

She bit her lip for a moment before she narrowed her eyes.

Thénardier's hand flew into the side of her face, sending her head reeling. She panted for a moment, pressing her cold hands to her cheek as the burning swelled to it.

"W-why did you hit me?" she dared to ask him.

His brows furrowed and he shrugged his shoulders. "I didn't hit you. I simply asked you a question."

Éponine's head snapped back. "But my cheek hurts. I know you hit me. Just tell me why you hit me."

Thénardier only shrugged again. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She cast pleading eyes to Montparnasse. "You saw him hit me too, right?"

Her husband only shrugged as well. "I didn't see anything. Perhaps you've finally lost it, Éponine."

Her breaths still came out quick and shortened as she stood at a loss, flipping her hand over and over to soothe her inflamed cheekbone. "I-I...but I thought...I really thought - "

"I didn't hit you, 'Ponine," her father reiterated. "But I asked you where you were."

Montparnasse took a step forward, grabbing onto her upper arm. "Now, none of us are leaving here until you tell us where you really were. So tell us now, and maybe I'll spare you from a real hit to your cheek."

It was now or never. Éponine didn't have much of a choice but she couldn't tell him of Enjolras either. Using lying as her best weapon, she conjured up an idea. "J-Joly...and Musichetta. D-do...do you remember when I told you about them once before? The...the couple came in to see Mr. G-Gallagher. She asked him to get her something, he refused...r-remember?" Montparnasse nodded along. "W-well...well, they've come in quite often and...Musichetta...we're pretty good friends now. She invites me to go get a drink with her...s-sometime and recently she's invited me to her house just for a bit. Last...w-week, I went over for dinner and to watch a film, honest. I fell asleep on the couch and she never woke me. I'm sorry I never told you," she began to sob, "I just know you never liked them...you said they weren't good for me...but I just wanted a friend."

And that was the honest truth in the middle of her lie.

Éponine fell against Montparnasse's chest as he stood there frozen for a moment. He needed to consider this. He needed to wrap his brain around everything that she had just spilled to him. She sobbed against him while her father just watched.

Montparnasse needed to think, but he couldn't do so with her incessant wails. He pushed her off his chest and to the floor with a thud. She fell in a heap, hair spewing in all directions as she watched her husband leave her and exit the foyer. Thénardier followed in suit, leaving her alone.

...

She sat soundlessly at the kitchen table, staring at the drainboard ahead of her. The carving knife glistened as it reflected off the pale moonlight seeping in from the window. The knife seemed to shine like a ray from the sun or a glow from a star. It sat their elegantly with its pristine steel, watching her; taunting her. She wondered what the steel would feel like as it slid delicately across her pale skin. Would it burn? Or would it sting? Would it really make a difference to her? What she really wanted to know was if the pain from the knife would really amount to the pain she felt in her chest.

She was crazy.

That was what it all came down to. Éponine had imagined herself getting hurt. Could she really then have imagined all of her beatings? Or was it that she had just been punished so much that she was now thinking she was getting hurt for doing nothing? But she imagined it so well that she even felt the pain of the hit. How was that even possible?

Slowly, Éponine removed her gaze and lifted up the hem of her shirt. The bruises were all still there, however fading. So she knew she didn't imagine those beatings. But what of others? She was honestly going insane.

But it didn't matter, she supposed. Nothing really seemed to matter anymore. She was a prisoner in her own home. She was trapped between a lock and a fist with nowhere to escape. And her heart just burned the more she realized she was even a prisoner of her own mind, forced to believe scenarios that didn't even happen. She could feel herself narrowly slipping through the cracks, falling deeper and deeper into an ocean. She was gagging and gasping for air and she was drowning all alone, while the other two sat happily in the next room laughing and enjoying themselves.

Meanwhile, she was the one fighting to survive. She cast her eyes to the ground, realizing just how tempting that knife was beginning to look with each glance.


	17. Of Awkward Engagements

**A/N:  
BIG AND OFFICIAL ANNOUNCEMENT: Some of you may know, but others do not - I have decided to make this story a novel. And I'm dead serious about this. I have already taken the initiative and ****reedited the chapters, changed the names, some descriptions…and so on. I've sent my first chapter out to a few professors in my college and a fellow colleague who has already published his own novel. I've been doing so much for this story already and basically, I would just love all of your support in this endeavor…because I can't do it alone. **

**Thus, I have decided to majorly reconstruct Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands. The past two weeks I have taken my original outline and put it towards my novel and come up with a new ending and new story idea for this online fan fiction. That way, I won't disappoint all of you and still continue this fanfic, but also _when_ (have faith) it becomes a novel, you all will have something new to read. **

**So, I have my work cut out for me and a lot more to write - in addition to schoolwork and film sets. **

**Now, I would love for you all if you have a tumblr to check out my blog I've made solely for this upcoming novel. You can find me under freedom909 . tumblr . com. The working title for this novel is called _Winter's Deer_. I'm planning to upload and post more about the novel as I can. But I am still new to tumblr, so I'm trying to figure it out - bear with me on that. However, if you go to the website, look under the tab, "About the Novel" and there is where I discuss what I hope to do and why I've made this decision.**

**I really really hope I can count on you all for support, maybe just check out my blog for updates and interesting things I'll post…and perhaps let me know if you'd buy this if it was a book. Maybe tell some friends? (without mentioning fanfic - unless that's cool? Idk..) haha, but anyway, you know...**

**Well, thank you all so much. Sorry for this wait as always, and trust me, if you Guests make an account and PM me during the waits between chapters, I promise I'll get back to you with updates as to where I'm at. And really, if you (Grace and Just a Guest) make accounts, I can definitely use you as sounding boards for ideas and just discuss the chapters with you. Same goes for anyone. I'm always open to discuss what's happening. I try to reply to every review that I can…just so you know. **

**Without any more delay, I think I've said everything I want…thank you all so much! Seriously, thank you all for everything. It's all of you who give me the will to do this. **

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 17 - Of Awkward Engagements

...

His fingers drummed nervously against the bar counter; mindlessly tapping until he finally noticed the hurt in his fingertips from the incessant banging.

"Another over here!" a voice called. Enjolras finally tore his eyes away from his fixed gaze on the counter to help the customer. Without even thinking, he gave a nod and then worked on making another Rum and Coke.

Enjolras couldn't help it. He didn't mean to be so mindless or so numb, but it had been two weeks; two weeks to the day since he last saw Éponine. And two weeks since his mind had let him rest. The amount of worry that coursed through him meant no easy night's rest. He would try to ease the night's worry with a movie or a television show or even a nightcap, but always his thoughts found their way back to Éponine, regardless.

Yet, there was nothing he could do. At one point last week, he had had enough. During his lunch break, he took a walk to Attorney Gallagher's office and when he arrived, Éponine was nowhere to be found. Mr. Gallagher politely informed him that Éponine was home with Viral Meningitis. Enjolras' stomach turned. Was it true or was it just a cover? Either way, Enjolras had a gut feeling that neither option was good.

"Hey Enj," Combeferre grunted as he took a seat in front of the bartender. Enjolras hadn't even see him come in. His friend shrugged off his coat, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "So...got a Hot Apple Cider with a shot of vodka up your sleeve?" he said, trying to chuckle.

Enjolras merely nodded and walked away.

"What's wrong?" Combeferre called to him across the way.

Enjolras could only sigh as he rubbed his hand over his face in agitation. He fixed the drink together and placed it in from of his friend in a few moments, sighing again as he did. "It's just...Éponine. I'm worried."

"Enjolras," Combeferre sighed as well. "Just give it some time. If you're worried that much, then just wait until the weekend. Stop by her job again and see if she's there."

"I guess...but I just can't help thinking - "

"Then stop thinking about it, just let it be."

"I wish it was that easy..."

...

His pace was quick and she couldn't figure out why. The night was growing on them; the sky falling blacker with each passing second even though it was only nearing 6:00. The bits of dirtied snow stuck to the side walk, crunching beneath their feet as they walked.

"Where are we going?" Éponine bravely asked as Montparnasse kept walking down the Boston streets even after he passed The Lounge.

"To dinner," he curtly replied. "What a stupid question," he muttered under his breath.

Obviously, she had known they were going to dinner, she just didn't understand _why_ he wasn't taking her to his usual place.

Her body still ached as she struggled to keep pace with him at his brisk walk. However, as of this past Monday - the day after her father left - Montparnasse had deemed it okay for her to go out in public again. The main concern was that her face healed, everything else was easily coverable and thus, not to be worried about. She had only a fading brown ring around her eye now that was liberally applied with concealer and cover-up. The only other fault was her noticeable her taped fingers. But Montparnasse prepared her with a story in case anyone should ask.

"But you passed The Lounge," she complained, hoping that perhaps he would elaborate on precisely where they were going now.

She was met with his dark eyes as he stopped short and brusquely faced her. "Well, I didn't want to go there so just shut up about it."

Éponine gulped as he swiftly looped his arm around hers and yanked her along with him, forcing her to keep stride with his long steps.

Up ahead, she saw the sign for The Musain and Montparnasse slowed his pace as they approached that particular bar. Suddenly, Éponine pulled her arm free from his grasp. "We're not eating here," she rapidly announced.

Montparnasse faced her impatiently with a look that would slit open her throat if it could. "Yes we are. I've already decided."

"I don't want to eat here," she said lamely, with no better explanation coming to her.

"You will," he deathly replied, as he seized her wrist.

She planted her feet firmly in the ground and pulled against him, not caring what he did to her for her stubbornness. She only knew that she could not let them go into _that_ bar. "But why? The Lounge is just fine."

He yanked her close to him, his white breath only millimeters from her own. "I've got unsettled business here with a bartender." Éponine felt her stomach churn, hoping he didn't mean Enjolras. But when did Montparnasse ever come to The Musain? What could he have meant? "Now get your ass inside before I snap your wrist in my hand right here," he threatened, closing his fist tighter around her tiny bone.

Éponine didn't respond this time, but allowed him to pull her inside. Her heart was pumping so hard, she could've sworn that Montparnasse heard it. Immediately, as soon as they entered the bar, Enjolras' head turned toward them, his eyes doubling as his head did a double take. Beside him, Courfeyrac gave a polite smile to her. Montparnasse met their gazes and followed the bartender's smile to Éponine.

He looked down at her incredulously. "Why is he staring at you?"

Éponine just shrugged, doing her best to look indifferent. "I don't know," she meekly responded.

"Well, I don't like it," he indignantly remarked, narrowing his eyes at the young bartender.

"Take a seat anywhere," Courfeyrac called to them. "I'll be right with you."

Montparnasse nodded and pulled Éponine to an empty table on the left side of the bar room. The table sat parallel with the long bar counter accompanied by an empty table on one side and another table occupied by an older couple on the other side. He sat down across from his wife at the dingy two-person table and grunted. Éponine looked down at her hands in her lap, already nervous and internally exploding.

Behind the bar counter, Enjolras couldn't believe it. He was in such a state of shock at seeing Éponine, he stood their frozen. These two weeks had been hell for him and here she was waltzing into the bar _he_ worked at with _her_ husband. But she looked healthy; the only visibly skin was her face and that looked normal - at least, it did in the dim lighting. But now what was he supposed to do? He couldn't talk to her without letting on the fact that he knew her. He was confined to behind the bar and thus he couldn't do anything except stare at her in disbelief.

The only questionable thing about her was her fingers. Her left hand was taped up with medical tape and he winced just thinking about what could've happened. Quickly, he grabbed ahold of Courfeyrac as he started to make his way over to the couple. "Hey Courf?" Enjolras said anxiously.

"What?"

He let go of his friend's arm. "Um, when you wait on them, just...don't say 'hi' to her or anything. Don't call her by name and just pretend you don't know her, okay?" His voice was laced with worry and nervousness that was hard to hide.

"Um, sure, but why - "

"Look, just do that for me, okay? I can't really get into it now," he pleaded.

"Okay," Courfeyrac replied skeptically. "Sure."

"Oh, and Courf, if you can...ask her what happened to her hand...but don't make it obvious."

The other bartender gave a friendly smile as he left and approached the table. Enjolras could barely hear them talking across the way but he strained the best he could to listen in.

Courfeyrac approached the couple with a broad grin now displayed across his features and handed each of them a menu. "Hi, sorry about that. My name is Courfeyrac, I'll be your server tonight. Is there any drink - "

"Why can't _he_ be our server?" Montparnasse cut off with a nod to the blonde behind the counter.

Courfeyrac seemed to pale at the question. "Who? Enjolras? He's the bartender. He doesn't wait tables too. I'm more a floater. I do both." Montparnasse ground his teeth together, choosing not to reply. "Well, is there any drink I can get you guys to start off with?"

"Jack Daniels on the rocks," he hastily answered, already bored with this conversation if it wasn't with the one person he wanted.

Courfeyrac looked over at Éponine. "And for you, ma'am?" He made sure to add the formality consciously.

Éponine looked up and made slight eye contact with Enjolras before she quickly averted her gaze. "Um..." Suddenly, a brief smile crossed over her lips, showing the hint of a dimple, before it fell away. "Can I have an Alabama Slammer?"

Montparnasse eyed her wickedly as Courfeyrac smiled. "Of course." He turned to walk away.

"No, get her a glass of Chardonnay," Montparnasse interjected.

Courfeyrac stopped in his tracks and looked at the girl before him. "Umm..." He rubbed his hand behind his neck, at a loss for what to do.

Her eyes turned wide as she looked at her husband. "But I - " His stern glare cut her off; she knew better than to refute what he said. Sighing deeply, she dropped her head, "Chardonnay is fine."

Courfeyrac gave a slow nod before he walked away entirely.

Éponine looked to the menu in front of her as Montparnasse continued to stare at her. She could feel his gaze on her, but she did her best to remain impassive to it. When she finally dared to lift her gaze to his, she caught him looking to his left. She followed his eye line and saw him now blatantly staring at Enjolras.

"What are you looking at?" she asked, turning her head back to look at her husband.

"What does it matter?" Montparnasse icily bit back.

Éponine dropped her gaze back to the menu, realizing she wasn't going to continue that conversation. She was trying to concentrate on what to order but with her heart pumping as if she just ran a marathon, she couldn't focus much. "H-how was work today?" she decided to ask, distracting her thoughts and aching nerves.

Montparnasse shrugged and as he opened his mouth to retort her question with another snide remark, Courfeyrac interrupted them with a tray of drinks. He placed the whiskey in front of Montparnasse and then turned to Éponine, placing down a fruity drink and a glass of wine before her.

Her eyebrows knitted together in confusion as she looked at Courfeyrac for an explanation.

"It's on the house," he clarified. "Courtesy of the bartender," he added with a wink.

Éponine blushed greatly, meeting Enjolras' gaze for only a mere second to nod in appreciation. Across from her, she could've sworn she saw steam come out of her husband's nostrils. His fist visibly clenched together on the table.

"Now, have you both decided? But um, if you don't mind me asking, I'm just curious, but what happened to your hand?"

Éponine frowned a bit. "Oh, well...I was doing laundry the other day, and I was in such a rush that I closed the lid of the washing machine right on my hand. Ended up breaking my two middle fingers."

"Sucks," Courfeyrac groused. "Well, I hope it heals quickly. But yeah, so, what can I get you guys to eat?"

Éponine smiled up to him after taking a sip of her drink. "Yes, um...I'm going to have - "

Montparnasse snatched the menu from her hands and placed it on top of his. "Two burgers, rare, and put bacon on mine," he snapped before shoving the menus into Courfeyrac's hands.

Éponine looked at him abruptly as if to protest, but she knew better when she caught his harsh gaze. Courfeyrac, having nothing else to say, nodded as he turned on his heel.

The silence fell among the couple as they sat across from each other, neither saying a word. "Work was good?" Éponine tried again, meekly.

"I don't really feel like talking about work," he snarled.

She looked back at her hands in her lap. "Oh..."

There wasn't much small talk made between them after that conversation stopper. However, with each passing moment, Montparnasse seemed to grow angrier and angrier and Éponine was having a hard time figuring out why. The silence made the waiting seem like an eternity as she watched his eyes fixed on something to the left. When Éponine finally got the courage to ask what was bothering him, Courfeyrac came with their food.

"Here you guys are," he announced setting down both plates, one in front of each of them.

"It looks great," Éponine said kindly, "Thank you."

"If you need anything, let me know." He turned around and walked away from the table quickly.

"The bartender keeps staring at you," Montparnasse abruptly said as he poured some ketchup on his burger.

Gingerly, Éponine craned her head to the side and caught Enjolras' gaze quickly before he looked away. "I guess so," she shrugged, turning her attention back to her husband. "Hadn't noticed." Truthfully, her heart was pounding at the thought. She wanted so much to go over and tell Enjolras to quit it. If he kept staring at her, he was only going to make Montparnasse even more frustrated than he already was.

Montparnasse cut a piece of his burger and held it up on the fork in front of her. "C'here, Éponine, try it."

She looked at him doubtfully, "But I have the exact same thing - "

"Eat it," he demanded before clearing his throat. "Try it, darling," he said much softer.

Éponine gawked back at him, scared out of her own mind. She leaned into the table and took the bite off his fork. Montparnasse leaned in closer and his other hand brushed up against her cheek, keeping her leaning in close. She swallowed the bite under his intense gaze.

"Did you like it?"

She nodded rapidly before his grimace turned into a smirk. He cast a sidelong glance to the bar just to make sure the bartender was still watching. As Éponine tried to pull back from him, Montparnasse wrapped his fingers around the back of Éponine's neck a little tighter. "Wait," he commanded levelly before he crashed her lips into his.

She was so startled at first but soon melted into his kiss as his slender fingers caressed the back of her neck. The thoughts were swirling in her mind as to what exactly was happening. It wasn't a gentle kiss, but a craving one, and he didn't stop when she had expected him too. Instead, it lasted for a few moments, sure enough to draw attention.

When he finally pulled back, Montparnasse's eyes shifted left again and he grinned devilishly. "You can eat now," was all he said to her.

Éponine, now perplexed by the situation in general, leaned back from the center of the table, cautiously looking around. The couple sitting at the table near theirs gave her a bit of a disgusted look before turning their attention back to their meal. She only dropped her head as she began to eat her food, trying to block out everything around her.

"Jesus!" Montparnasse shouted, causing her to lift her head up abruptly.

"What? What's wrong?" Panic was written all over her features.

"Idiots!" he berated in a hushed shout. "Excuse me," he called out, "_Excuse me_!"

Montparnasse was staring directly at Enjolras, who finally peeled himself from behind the bar and approached their table before Courfeyrac could. Éponine ducked her head, choosing to ignore Enjolras to the best of her abilities.

"What's wrong?" the blonde asked.

"What's wrong? _What's wrong_! What's wrong is that I specifically asked for two burgers _rare_, does this look rare to you?" He held up his plate a bit off the table, face reddened with anger. "No!" he shouted without a reply from the bartender. "It's well-done!" Montparnasse turned swiftly to the table next to theirs and held his plate to the other couple. "Do you see any pink on this burger? Does this look rare?" The couple not knowing how to reply, simply shrugged and the man shook his head. "Exactly! All I asked for was a freaking rare burger, and you idiots can't even do that right!" He shoved his plate back down against the table with a loud _clank_.

"Courfeyrac," Enjolras called, turning to the side. He stood at a loss, quickly glancing to Éponine every so often.

She lifted her eyes to her husband. "'Parnasse, stop this," she hissed in a whisper. "It's fine. Please, just stop."

Montparnasse ignored her as Courfeyrac now approached the table. "Is there a problem, sir?"

"Yes! The problem is that I specifically told you 'two burgers, _rare_' I don't know about you but my burger isn't even the slightest pink! What kind of establishment are you guys running if you can't even get a simple order right?"

"I'm sorry, sir," Courfeyrac interrupted. "I can get it fixed for you right away."

"And what? You're gonna take another half hour? We've been sitting here forever. I want my goddamn food correct now - "

"I'm very sorry, we'll get the cook to make you another right away."

"I just don't understand why you can't get it right the first time - "

"'Parnasse," Éponine hissed again as she eyed around the bar at all the onlookers. "You're making a scene, please, stop this."

Montparnasse turned back to Éponine wickedly, "I don't care if I'm making a scene! I want my damn order right!"

"I'm sorry, sir, we'll fix it right away," Courfeyrac apologized as he picked up Montparnasse's plate. He reached for Éponine's and she held up her hand to stop him.

"Mine's fine - "

"No, I'll fix it for you right away," he insisted, taking her plate from her anyway. Quickly, Courfeyrac exited the scene with the plates.

"And you can get me another whiskey while your at it, _bartender_," Montparnasse added to Enjolras, holding up his empty glass to him.

Begrudgingly, Enjolras took the glass from his hands and walked behind the bar.

Éponine could only sit with her head now buried in her hands, hiding from the sheer embarrassment.

"The customer's always right," Montparnasse muttered under his breath.

It was another fifteen minutes before Courfeyrac reappeared with two new burgers. He placed them in front of the couple and waited for Montparnasse to inspect it before he left. "Is everything to your liking now?" he asked with a hint of annoyance etched in his tone.

Montparnasse lifted the bun of his burger, emitting a low growl. Soon his growl turned into a bitter chuckle. "I thought I asked for bacon on this?"

"'Parnasse!" Éponine chided.

"Shut up," he snapped back. Montparnasse picked up the plate and shoved it back into Courfeyrac's hands. "I asked for bacon."

Courfeyrac took in a big breath and let it out in a smile. "Right away, sir."

Éponine heaved another sigh as she did her best to only stare at her plate. She wanted to disappear, to just turn invisible, melt away from this situation and never come back.

"...believe it...kind of a person does that..." Éponine heard in a hushed female tone from the table beside her. They were talking about her and Montparnasse. She was sure of it. "...and you saw them practically making out before...despicable..." She moved the food on her plate around with her fork, concentrating on what they were saying. "...she should really rein in her husband if you ask me...it's completely uncalled for...a civil establishment...what kind of a wife doesn't even say anything...or even apologize for his behavior..." She could feel the lump building in her throat now. This was all her fault and she didn't even do anything. Everyone in the bar was now certainly judging her; she was a bad wife, she just couldn't seem to do anything right.

Éponine wanted to cry, but she fought back the tears with all her strength. '_Don't cry, baby,' _she told herself. She just needed those comforting words whispered in her ear, but no one would be there to do that for her. She was the only one she had.

The meal progressed in awkward silence as Montparnasse finally ate his fill. When he was finished, he looked around and stood up from the table. "Get your coat," he ordered. "We're leaving."

Éponine wasn't even finished with her meal as she looked up to him with her large doe eyes. "But 'Parnasse, you didn't even ask for the check - I'm not even done."

"We're leaving," he growled in a harsh whisper as he pulled his coat on and tucked in his scarf.

"But - "

"Now!"

Éponine had no choice but to stand up. She picked her coat up and before she could even put it on, Montparnasse had her upper arm in her grasp and was leading her away as she stumbled over her own feet out the doors. Once they were outside, he forcefully let go of her and she struggled to get her coat on and keep pace with him.

"But we didn't even pay - "

"Why should I pay them, huh? Give them my hard earned money when they can't even do their damn jobs right? They don't deserve to be paid for the crap they served me."

...

By the time they walked into the front door of their home, Éponine was now the one fuming. She slammed her coat on the hook and stomped into the living room.

"What's the matter with you?" her husband remarked with an air of indifference.

She stopped in the hallway on the way to the bedroom and eyed him darkly. "The matter? The matter is that you left without even paying for the food! You can't just do that!"

Montparnasse outwardly groaned as he pushed past her and walked into the bedroom. "We're still on that? Let it go, Éponine. It's over with. Stop worrying about it."

"No 'Parnasse!" she shouted as she followed him. "They're real people, that's their job. They deserve to be paid!"

In one swift gesture, Montparnasse whipped the comforter of the bed down and grabbed his pajamas from behind his pillow. "Well, if they did their job correctly, I wouldn't mind paying them."

"But what you did wasn't fair! It wasn't right!"

"Just let it go! It's over and done with now!"

"But how dare you, you made a huge scene and then you just left! And you have to drag me into all of it. What are they gonna think of us?"

"Who cares what they think! Just forget about it!"

"But you can't just do that, 'Parnasse - "

"Shut up, Éponine," he said tersely as slammed his cell phone from his pocket onto the nightstand.

She face him directly, eyes narrowed. "No! You're never gonna be allowed there again! It wasn't right - "

"Shut up."

"They're gonna hate you - "

"Shut up!"

"You can't just - "

Montparnasse crossed the room, grabbing Éponine by the shoulders and slammed her against the wall. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" he yelled as loud as he could in her ear. "That's it! I'm done with you! Why can't you just let this go?" He shook her again, ramming her head into the wall. "My patience is now gone! You happy about that? Is that what you wanted? You wanted to make me mad? Well, happy now? Now I'm freaking pissed."

"I'm sorry," Éponine whimpered, catching her breath.

"Sorry? It's too late for apologies. You should of thought of that before you blatantly disrespected me. How dare _you_! I've got every right to teach you a lesson. Punish you for what you did."

"I didn't - "

"Get on your knees," he hollered as he tossed her to the ground.

Her face slammed into the floor. "'Parnasse, please, I didn't mean - "

"Shut up! I'm done listening to you speak." He grabbed a handful of her hair, bringing her head close to his lips. "From now on, you only speak when I'm talking to you, got it? One wrong word, and I'll punish you for it on the spot. You understand?"

Éponine shut her eyes as she sat on her knees before him, hands clenched at her sides.

"You understand?" he rebuked, shoving in the side of her head with the heel of his hand. She nodded rapidly. "I can't hear you."

"Yes," she firmly said, still keeping her eyes closed and nodding.

"Good."

She heard him shuffle around before she heard the clink of the belt buckle. She had a feeling this would happen. Her entire muscles tensed as she waited for the first blow to strike. But when she didn't feel anything she opened her eyes bravely. Montparnasse wasn't in front of her, but she could hear his heavy breaths behind her.

Roughly, he seized her wrists and latched them together behind her back, coiling the belt around them. Éponine's heart dropped, the blood pounded in her ears, and a small bead of sweat trickled down her brow. She was petrified.

"I'm sorry," she rasped out, meekly.

Montparnasse rubbed her shoulders from behind and brought his head right next to her ear. He let out a bitter chuckle, whispering, "Oh, you will be when I'm done with you."

Immediately, he hurled her flat against the ground and his boot-clad foot connected with her abdomen...over and over again.


	18. Of Enduring Each Day

**A/N: Hey all again! I hope you like this chapter…well, I'll understand if you never really "like" it, but maybe you'll at least think it's written well. **

**Warnings: Self-Harm**

**To Just a Guest: Thanks for all your continued support! And actually, I wasn't doing it because of that. This is just on my own really. But I don't have the time to write this story in a month. God, I've got way too much on my plate to deal with. I feel like I'm drawing half - who am I kidding - _all_ the time. **

**Thank you Lauren and another Guest review! And thank you Smithy for your reviews, all I can say is just keep reading to find out!**

**Thank you all again and again for reading. It seriously means the world to me. And check out my tumblr too! I've updated some more things about my novel…but really it all still applies to _this_ story, just with name changes…  
freedom909 . ****tumblr . com**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 18 - Of Enduring Each Day

...

The red streaks poured down over her ivory skin letting little droplets trickle from her fingertips and splash into the sink. The clear streaks spilled from her tired eyes leaving behind a trace of clean skin amongst the hurt in her features. The pain was torturous, first a stinging, soon transforming into a dull ache and then fading into numbness. And when she didn't feel the pain of the cut anymore, that was when she made another.

She wanted to feel the pain. She wanted to feel anything strong enough to distract herself from the hurt in her heart, for that was a pain that could not easily be healed.

Slowly, Éponine pressed the little razor blade to the skin of her left arm and sliced another long line down it. She watched her face contort in the the mirror until she lifted the blade from her arm. Panting, she dropped the blade completely, hearing the soft _clank_ of it hit the porcelain sink.

That was enough for today.

Her whole arm felt heavy, like it was burning from the inside without actually having flames attached to it. The white of the medical tape around her left hand was now stained crimson. She worked on delicately peeling the tape away to change it, knowing that she needed to get rid of all the bloodied evidence.

Turning on the tap to warm water, she rinsed her arm under it, watching the blood pool around the drain before it slipped away into nothingness. She yearned to slip away as well. But she wasn't ready to take that big of a step yet, even if she thought about it constantly.

But what else was she supposed to do now? What had her life even become these past few weeks? Everything had been going fine, everything was normal but then what happened? Montparnasse had turned wicked, it seemed. Everyday it appeared that he cared less and less about her. Punishments were becoming more frequent, and most of the time she wouldn't even need to do anything to set him off - he was constantly angry. He used her more for his own release, rather than cherishing her while they made love - in fact, there was no love in it anymore. Each time she tried to take a tiny stand for herself, just to make _him _listen to _her _for a change, he would shoot her down and she would always regret her decision in the end. She was crazy too, making up violent acts in her head. God! She was pathetic - what was she trying to do? Draw attention to herself? And she couldn't forget about the one time she tried to walk out and how that ended; she couldn't leave. But did she really want to leave her husband? Perhaps this was just a rough patch in their marriage. He could change, right? She could change him?

Still, Éponine couldn't help thinking of how Enjolras told her this all was _not_ normal. But no, Enjolras was the one who wasn't normal, right? He was the one who was different than every other man she knew.

But just thinking still, _if_ she could leave her husband - _if_ she decided to, where would she go? How would she support herself? She had no access to her finances. Who would help her? Her family wouldn't, that's for sure. And what would he do to her if he caught her? She would never be safe from his grasp, he would hunt her and find her, she knew that. A shiver ran through her spine just thinking about the trouble she would be bringing upon herself if she ever left.

Thus, the safest option was to stay. There wasn't any other option. So she would try and endure. She would keep everything smooth, she would follow his rules, she wouldn't lie anymore, she wouldn't sneak out, she would please her husband and do what he wanted whenever he wanted it, she would listen to him and keep her mouth shut, even if this all was slowly killing her.

As she washed her arm under the running water, she lifted up her pajama shirt with her other hand to see her abdomen. She winced just looking at the sorry state she was in. Last night was intense and she couldn't believe how fast the reminders of it showed up on her overnight. The purple and brown glowed miraculously across her midsection, swarming angrily around her ribs. She assumed some of those were broken too, but it's not like she knew for sure and it's not like anyone cared. Éponine could only suck it up now and force herself to endure another day.

But a thought crossed her mind that perhaps she was just imagining everything like she had done before. She didn't know what or who to trust anymore - it wasn't like she could even trust herself. But she could see the bruises, she felt them - they hurt. But what if her imaginings were so real to her that she could actually feel them? What if no one could see them but her? Was this all really just in her head? But if it was, how would her mind heal? Would it ever heal? Or would she be forced to live with the excruciating scars on her brain forevermore?

The bathroom door opened unexpectedly and she scrambled to hide her arm behind her back.

"'Parnasse!" she shrieked and he stuck his head into the small room. "What are you doing here? I thought you left for work." Sloppily, she rubbed her right had across her cheeks, smearing away any remnant of tears.

"I did," he smoothly responded. "Forgot my wallet," he explained. "What are you still doing in the bathroom?" If he had noticed her tears, he chose not to ask about it.

She averted her gaze to the floor, feeling the fresh blood trickle over her new wounds and just hoping no trace of it dropped to the ground. "Just getting ready. I...uh...decided to shave my legs this morning."

His eyes turned to the plastic razor sitting out on the counter with the blade detached and lying ungraciously in the sink as the water still flowed around it. "I see." He nodded skeptically.

"Aren't you going to be late for work?" she snapped a little bit tersely.

"Don't get snippy with me," he chastised right back.

She dropped her eyes to the floor in full submissiveness. "Sorry..."

"I'll see you later," he said before promptly shutting the door behind him.

Éponine heaved a sigh as she brought her red stained arm out from behind her back and continued to clean it.

...

Montparnasse tapped his pen against his desk over and over as his mind ran rampant with never-ending thoughts. He was supposed to be doing the monthly business reports for the company, but instead he took a break to stare at a blank spot on his desk.

_What was making Éponine act this way?_

That was the question he kept coming back to in his mind. Why did she yell at him the other night over the stupid incident of not paying for the bill? What made her think she had the right to yell back at him? He had spent years conditioning her to know her place and to stay in it. Every time she talked out of turn, there was a consequence. So if she knew the punishment for her actions already, what made her still do it? There had to be a reason...or perhaps she was just too inept to learn anymore. But no, a reason made the most sense.

So what was this reason? Could it all just be this Joly and Musichetta couple influencing her thoughts, undoing everything he had spent years creating? That had to be it. Why else would she suddenly think she could talk back to him?

Whatever the true reason, Montparnasse knew there needed to be some stronger changes made. Obviously, he had let the leash go out too far and it was time to call her back in. Thus, he would need to start doing routine check-ins on her again. Show up at her job randomly just to make sure she was really there and call into her office phone every so often to make sure she answered. He would need to be stricter with her. Take away her allowance or at least put it on a suspension. A GPS in her car would be a good idea too.

Quickly, he leaped forward in his chair as his fingers worked on his computer to look up the best type of tracking system to get. It didn't take long before he found one that would be perfect, one that he could hide right under her car's tire and she would never know.

Having that settled, he realized that having a weapon in her view at all times would make her think twice before she did anything next time. He kept a gun in his bedside drawer, so maybe he should show it to her a few times...just to scare her a bit. And absolutely, there should be no nights out unless he was with her to monitor.

_Yes, this could all work,_ he mused over in his head.

An image crossed his mind then of Éponine lying on the ground with her nose bloodied and her torso a bright purple. He closed his eyes concentrating harder about what he was seeing. She was lying there defenseless with her shirt half hanging on and her arms spewed at awkward angles. Yet her eyes were closed and her chest lightly rose and fell while he just watched her. Thinking deeper about it, he decided there needed to be reason that she was in such a state. He tapped his pen twice more before he concluded that this time, she had disobeyed him, this time she had tried to run off...to..._to be with another man, _he decided. Yes, this was a reason that she deserved such a beating. Or even it could be something simple like..._she forgot to clean the bathroom and mold started to grow. _Yes, for even something small such as that, she deserved a punishment. And perhaps this time, he used an object to punish her. Not the belt - he had used that one before - this time, it was a bat, yes, a baseball bat. But Montparnasse didn't even have a baseball bat at home. He shrugged his shoulders, smirking to himself - he could always get one.

He smirk didn't fade as he reviled in his thoughts. It felt good to be in such control, such power and dominance. He felt alive when he put her in her place and when she would knowingly retreat there before he even needed to do anything. She was his property, one that he could do anything with, one where there was no consequences.

This control was what he was passionate about. It was riveting and fascinating and he loved every bit of it. This is what got him out of bed in the morning; this is what got his blood pumping and his heart racing.

...

She walked aimlessly behind him as he strode through the aisles meticulously picking out food items and placing them in the plastic basket she was holding. Éponine kept her head down, looking at the ground and not speaking unless he said something to her. Those were the rules now and she would diligently follow them.

Without looking, Montparnasse tossed a box of rice into the basket before continuing down the aisle.

"Éponine!" a voice called.

She perked her head up for what seemed like the first time that night. Montparnasse whipped his head to his wife as he saw the source of the voice heading their way. "Someone you know?" he sneered.

"Éponine!" the cheery woman called again as her and her, assumably, boyfriend approached.

"Musichetta - " Éponine started but was cut off by the red head giving her a strong hug.

"Funny running into you here! But what a pleasant surprise. Oh, is this your husband? Oh, you'll just have to introduce me!" she prattled on, completely ignoring the fixed stare Montparnasse was giving Éponine.

Nervously, Éponine fidgeted with the basket in her hand and looked back to the ground. "Montparnasse, this is Musichetta. And this is Joly. You remember? I told you about them before..."

Montparnasse plastered a sardonic smile to his face and picked up Musichetta's hand, giving it a gentle kiss to which she blushed greatly. "Ah, yes. Nice to finally meet the people who have been taking such good care of my 'Ponine. I've heard all about your adventures."

Joly gave Montparnasse a hard and skeptical stare as he slipped his hand into his girlfriend's, possessively.

Éponine paled at her husband's actions, hoping no one could see as she continued to stare at the ground. She quickly brought her pleading eyes up to look at Musichetta. "Yes, yes...I told Montparnasse all about the drinks we get at the bar...you know..."

Musichetta's smile faltered before she perked up again. "Oh, yes! Been awhile, we should catch up with drinks again sometime."

Montparnasse's eyes only narrowed as he snaked an arm around Éponine's waist and tugged her closer to him causing her to give a small gasp in surprise. Immediately, she dropped her gaze back to the floor. "Well, 'Ponine's been awfully busy lately. Work's been a hassle. For both of us, even. You know, I don't know when she'll find the time to catch up for another drink." He clucked his tongue seeing Musichetta's lithe smile fade. "But I'm sure we'll figure something out. Maybe the four of us can even go." It was nothing more than an empty promise rolling from his tongue. It was one of those things one said so that all would leave the conversation with no hard feelings.

Suddenly, Musichetta's smile was back on her face at the new prospect in mind. "Oh, that'd be great! We _so_ should." She looked directly at Éponine now. "Sorry work's been a lot for you lately. I've missed seeing you at the bar." She waited for Éponine to say something or even look up to her, but instead, Éponine only nodded.

"Me too," she shyly replied, hoping she was allowed to.

"Oh!" Montparnasse cut back in. "Did Éponine tell you, she got sick recently too. A case of Viral Meningitis. Thankfully it's all cleared now, but that's what really made her fall behind at work."

"Oh God," Joly uttered. "That's awful! You know, that's exactly why I take precautions all the time. Always carry hand sanitizer on me. You should too. You can never be too prepared."

"Well, she definitely does now," Montparnasse answered for her.

Joly shot him a confused look. "Right," he mused.

"Are you alright, Éponine?" Musichetta asked, leaning her head down a bit to try and look into her eyes.

"She's fine," Montparnasse retorted, giving Éponine a small shake as if to tell her to look up. "Just a bit tired."

Musichetta narrowed her eyes at the brunette and gazed down to the basket in Éponine's hand. "Oh my goodness!" she nearly shouted. "What happened to your hand?"

Éponine's face held every amount of apprehension, worry, stress, anxiety, and embarrassment in one painful expression as she finally rose up her face subtly.

"Éponine's just clumsy," Montparnasse interjected. "Closed her hand in the washing machine, can you believe it? I mean, who does that?" he said, sniggering and rolling his eyes.

Musichetta forced a chuckle and looked back to her friend. "That's really awful. I hope you get well soon. Seems like you've just had a stroke of bad luck with your health lately."

Éponine nodded unsurely. "Yes seems so. Sorry, I'm not quite myself, it's been a long day at work today. I'm fine though...just tired." Her eyes found the tile again.

"O...kay," Musichetta hesitated, but giving a reassuring smile regardless. Her eyes scanned to the shelves behind the couple. "Oh, Joly, don't we need rice? It's right there. Grab a box."

Joly detached himself from Musichetta's hand and walked around the other couple to grab a box of rice.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling okay. I'm sure you're still recovering from the virus too - Oh Joly! Not that one, get the Success Rice."

"But that one isn't on sale, 'Chetta. Why spend four dollars on a box of rice when I can get the same thing for two?"

"But, I hate the grocery store brand. I don't care if it's more expensive, just get the other one." She looked back to the couple in front of her. "As I was saying - "

"'Chetta, it's rice. It doesn't matter."

"Joly, it tastes different! Get the other one," she demanded, folding her arms across her chest. Joly heaved a sigh and picked up the bright red and yellow box of the Success Rice, tossing it into his basket. "Thank you," she smiled sweetly.

"Well," Montparnasse interposed. "We'll let you two get back to shopping. It was very nice to finally meet you both."

"Yes, it was nice to meet you too. I'm sure I'll see you around again. And let's all definitely plan something for drinks!" Musichetta beamed.

"Yes, we will," he lied. "See you around." He gave a polite smile before turning himself and Éponine away.

The couple walked down a couple of aisles until they were safe from the other's hearing ears and wandering eyes. Montparnasse let go of Éponine and stopped in front of shelves of condiments. There wasn't anyone else in this aisle and she could only assume that was why he chose to stop in this one. "What's wrong with you?" he snapped, turning to face her.

"N-nothing."

"Then don't you dare do that again in front of _anyone_."

"Do what?"

His eyes flamed over. "You know exactly what? You're making people think something is wrong the way you're moping around. I asked you what's wrong, you said, 'Nothing.' So stop acting like something is. Got it?"

Éponine nodded, averting her eyes to the floor.

"Look at me!" he demanded. "Got it?"

Her eyes shot up to his for just a brief moment. She nodded again. "Yes."

He looked away from her, seeing a mother and son enter this aisle. His eyes looked over at all the mustards displayed in front of him. "I don't like them," he stated nonchalantly. "I don't want you to see them again."

"But - "

"Don't make me repeat myself," he warned as he picked up a bottle of mustard and tossed it into the basket before he started walking away. Éponine was left to follow him. "They're a bad influence on you. I don't like it. That guy...Joly, was his name?" He looked to Éponine briefly to see her silent answer. "Right, he's spineless. That red head's got him wrapped around her finger. Disgusting," he spit. "I don't want them influencing you anymore."

She stayed silent for a minute before she finally forced out the word: "Okay."

That was all she could say, for she was enduring.

...

The red head and the dirty blonde gathered up the rest of their items and headed to the checkout. Joly began to place the items on the conveyer belt when Musichetta stopped, catching something in the distance.

She saw Éponine and Montparnasse on another line a few checkout lanes away. Both of their backs were turned and Musichetta thought about calling to them and waving, but decided against it. She was just too interested in how they interacted. Montparnasse stood by watching as Éponine placed the items on the conveyor belt. The couple didn't touch, nor talk, nor look at each other. Montparnasse then paid for food while Éponine began to back the items. She fumbled to pick up all the bags and when her husband saw her struggling, he snatched the bags from her and pushed past her. She stumbled over the impatient brush in her shoulder and followed him off the line. Musichetta was quick to notice Éponine's left arm shaking like a leaf as she struggled to carry one of the grocery bags. Her gait was unsound as she walked with a slight limp. Her torso did not hang right as her body seemed to teeter as she walked.

"Interesting couple," Joly remarked. It was only then that she noticed Joly was watching exactly what she was.

He gave a slight gesture to the grocery bags already packed and paid for, silently asking her to grab a few. She picked them up as they walked away from the registers. "More like weird." She paused. "I don't know if it was just me, but Éponine didn't seem like herself today, right? She was so quiet and she wouldn't even look at me."

"Yeah, she was acting really weird."

"Maybe it's cause her husband was around?"

"Hmm...I don't know. He seems nice enough to me. Why would she be acting like that just 'cause he was around?"

Musichetta dragged her feet as she walked, contemplating deeply. "Think we should tell Enjolras about running into her? Hasn't he been going crazy not seeing her?"

"Yeah...well at least we can tell him why she hasn't been around."

"We should also tell him that we met her husband."

"And definitely how weird she was acting." He furrowed his brow, lost in thought. "Yeah, that was _really_ weird. There was just something really off about her. You know, maybe we should stop by Enjolras' apartment on our way home."

Musichetta shrugged in agreement. "I guess the sooner we tell him, the better. Maybe he could tell us why she was acting weird. Maybe he knows."

Joly beeped the car as they began to pile the groceries in the back seat. "Then let's go."


	19. Of the Memory of Melénie

**A/N: Okay, so I struggled on this chapter a lot. Wow, did I ever and I will always apologize for the bleakness of it. It's a very heavy and psychologically messed up chapter. Everything about it is very ****subtle and I hope you pick up on it all. This chapter requires some thinking, especially since I try to do some of it in a tasteful way. **

**Warnings apply: Violence, self-harm, mentions of rape...**

**To Just a Guest: I really hope I don't lose you as a reader. I'm so so so so so sorry that my story had become this angst-y. I really am. and my intensions were never for this story to become this bad, but when I realized all I could do with it, I had to drag it out. Originally my outline was fourteen chapters, story over, but that never covered half of what actually happens in domestic violence. All the possibilities… But listen, you give me two more chapters, and I promise… I PROMISE things will start to look up. SPOILERS: remember when I said things get worse before they get better, well the worse is almost over. One more chapter. Please tell me you'll stick around until then? I'd really appreciate you giving it a shot. Again, I'm so sorry if I've upset you…I never meant for that to happen.**

**JUST FOR EVERYONE TO KNOW, I'VE PROLONGED THE INEVITABLE FOR A LONG TIME AND NOW NEXT CHAPTER WILL HAVE TO BE RATED M. PLEASE MAKE SURE TO CHANGE YOUR SETTINGS TO LOOK FOR IT IF YOU WILL STILL WANT TO READ IT. I am sorry to do this, but next chapter will be big and even with my limited detail and tastefulness, there are some things you just can't gloss over. **

**_Thank you all incredibly much_. I can't begin to describe how doubtful I am with this story. I teared in the middle of class yesterday thinking that maybe it's better off not being a book. This stuff is heavy and it's slowly killing me to write. I hope I'm doing a good thing. I hope you all don't hate me. I'm sorry for it all.**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 19 - Of the Memory of Melénie

...

Her nimble fingers pressed the doorbell as they waited for Enjolras to come to the door. There was a bit of shuffling heard and then the door was yanked open.

"Joly? 'Chetta? What are you guys doing here? Is something wrong?"

Musichetta took a step into the apartment first, familiarizing herself with the warmth of it. "Yes...we've got something to talk to you about - about something we saw today. Just now actually."

Enjolras' face fell colorless as the worry crept into his body. "Alright...yeah...come on in."

He led the couple into his living room area as they were greeted by Combeferre who stood leaning up against the kitchen counter. "Joly, Musichetta?" Combeferre greeted with a smile. "What a nice surprise." The despair written across both of their faces told him a different story. "What's going on?"

Joly and Musichetta shifted awkwardly until Enjolras motioned for them to take a seat on the couch. He stood standing as Combeferre took his place in the armchair.

"So?" Enjolras prompted.

Musichetta wet her lips deciding how to speak. Thankfully, Joly took control of the conversation, seeing her hesitation. "We ran into Éponine and her husband just before." Enjolras' eyes nearly doubled and anyone could clearly see the tension rise in his body. "We were at the grocery store. Saw them, decided to say hi...you know. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary."

"We talked and Éponine seemed happy to see us," Musichetta cut in. "But you could just tell something was off..." she trailed.

"It was weird," Joly said. "Montparnasse answered everything for her, he never let her speak."

"And she stared at the ground the whole time. And when we saw her leaving the store with her husband, she was walking with a limp."

"We did ask if something was wrong because of the way she was acting. You know, cause she is normally such a bright and bubbly girl. And so we did find out that she had a case of viral meningitis and that she broke her fingers on the washing machine."

"But after we saw her and her husband, we just knew we needed to tell you, Enj. You know her better than us. We thought you could tell us why she was acting so weird."

"Enjolras, it was really weird. She was like a different person. 'Chetta and I started to assume the worse...and I just don't know. We were hoping maybe you would understand it more than we did."

Enjolras washed his hands over his face, pacing about in a small circle.

"Calm down, Enj," Combeferre began. "Don't start jumping to conclusions. You don't know anything for a fact yet."

"How can you say that!" Enjolras erupted. "You heard them, what else do you think it is? What else could it be?"

Combeferre rose to his feet suddenly. "Calm yourself. You can't do anything if you're mad."

"For Christ's sake, 'Ferre!" Enjolras spun around, colliding his foot with the leg of the coffee table. The couple on the couch jumped at the loud sound. "I'm calling the police right now, I need to find her. I don't care." He whipped his cell phone from his pocket ready to call.

Joly looked between his two friends worriedly. "Will someone explain - "

Combeferre immediately stormed to Enjolras, grabbing the phone from his grasp. "Calm down! You're not calling the police! Just stop."

"Combeferre! Give me my phone!"

"Please," Musichetta tried. "Guys, just stop. Can someone just tell us what's going on?"

Enjolras sighed as he looked to his two friends. "I think - no, I _know_ Éponine is being abused."

Musichetta's expression turned to one of panic. "You're not saying...by her...?"

Enjolras nodded gravely. "By her husband. I've seen bruises on her multiple times...no doubt from him. That cut on her face a while ago...from her husband. She flat out told me the things he's done to her when I had her for dinner!" He sighed. "But she didn't call it abuse. To her it's just a punishment."

Musichetta sat, absorbing this new information in a look of shock. Soon, her features turned sour. "So you've known? How long have you known about this?"

Enjolras rubbed the back of his neck, averting his gaze. "Almost three weeks now, since she told me everything for a fact, anyway. The rest of the time I was assuming."

"And why haven't you done anything sooner? Why are you doing nothing?!"

Enjolras looked mortified, but Combeferre jumped in. "We can't help her if she doesn't want it."

Enjolras snatched his phone back as Combeferre's guard came down. "Well, I don't care if she wants help or not right now. I'm helping her."

Combeferre seized his friend's wrist again. "No," he said sternly.

"Are you kidding me? Do you want her to end up like Melénie? I won't let that happen! I don't want to see Éponine dead!"

Carefully, Combeferre peeled Enjolras' fingers back and took hold of his phone again. "I don't want to see her dead either. But you need to think rationally about this. If you call the police, you will go into questioning. They're gonna turn you into the star witness for this case. Do you really need this? You want that?"

"If it means keeping Éponine safe..."

"Her husband is gonna put you on his hit list. He'll have a death warrant on your head. Are you seriously gonna put your life at risk?"

Enjolras stayed silent.

"You don't want that. She doesn't want help, Enjolras. Let it be. You said she dealt with this as a child. Now she's dealing with it as an adult. She's doing alright. She's alive, right?"

"But for how much longer?" Enjolras murmured. "Melénie..."

"Who's Melénie?" Joly's voice broke through their discussion.

Enjolras rubbed his hands over his face once again, walking around the coffee table and falling into the armchair. "She was an old case," he began to explain. "I was interning at the Voclain Law Office after I moved back up here when I finished grad school. I was more a pencil pusher, I guess, rather than actually learning the trade. But hey, at twenty six, you know everything, right? Well, anyway, one day this woman came into our office, she was all flushed like she had just run a marathon. She told me her name was Melénie and said she wanted to see Attorney Voclain over marital violence. So, I went into Voclain's office, told him about the woman. He said, 'We're a divorce and child legal issues law office. If she needs a domestic violence lawyer, she needs to go somewhere else.' So, I relayed the message to her. She wasn't happy at all, but she picked up herself and left dignifiedly. A few days later, she came back. She was dressed nicely, and said she wanted to divorce her husband. I didn't even get Voclain this time. I just sent her away. Told her the same thing again, told her we couldn't help her, she would still need to see a domestic violence lawyer. It was a week later, she came back again. I told her the same thing and then she showed me her bruises. I was shocked, and still I told her, if she needs help, she needs to go to the police. She started crying, she grabbed onto me and just said, 'If I go back home, he's gonna kill me.' I was mortified at her words and that she was grabbing onto me, crying and staining my suit. Then..." Enjolras took in a deep breath, swallowing back a lump in his throat. "I told her, 'If you don't leave this office right now, I'll call the police for you and I'm sure they won't be the ones helping you.' She sobbed harder but still, she left. I didn't see her again after that. She never came back."

"But...what happened then...you said she died?" Musichetta asked tentatively.

Enjolras nodded. "A few weeks later, there was an article in the paper about a woman who was found by hikers brutally beaten on the side of a remote road. The autopsy said she was beaten and then run over by a car. She was dead before the car ran her over though. The article then said, she was identified as Melénie Lévesque, age 29. I was shocked, to say the least. I felt guilty. And I still feel guilty. Like if I had listened and helped her - she was _begging_ for help - if I had just listened...she might still be alive."

The silence was palpable between them as the words clung to the air.

"That's not your fault," Musichetta spoke up softly, testing the air between them all.

"Yes it is!" he snapped. "I don't care how you say it. I didn't help her!"

"Enj," Combeferre cut in. "I've told you, you can't pin it all on yourself. She was to blame as well, she never went to the police. You weren't in any position to help her, she couldn't have expected you to."

"No, it's still my fault. I should've done something...and now, I just can't sit here quietly and listen to Joly and 'Chetta tell about how Éponine is terrified and struggling to survive living with that monster! Someone needs to help her."

"But no one says _you_ have to be the one to help her!" Combeferre shouted.

Enjolras jumped to his feet, now angrier than before. "And if I don't help her, who will?"

"Please, Enj," Joly interjected. "'Ferre said she doesn't want help. Listen to that. I'm not saying don't help her, but how can you help her if she doesn't want it."

"She just doesn't _know_ she wants it, that's all. I'm going to find her. I'm going to save her. I won't let her end up like Melénie."

Combeferre shook his head. "Well, then _find_ her first." He placed the phone back in Enjolras' hand. "Talk to her, don't make any calls just yet."

Enjolras forced a nod. At least this was a reasonable answer, this was something he could obey.

In a few silent minutes, Joly stood to his feet, ready to leave. Musichetta followed in suit. "Thank you, Enjolras, for telling us all about this," he stated. "Have a good night and a Merry Christmas if I don't see you next week. Same to you, 'Ferre."

Enjolras led the way to see them out of the door and bid them a goodnight as well.

One the door was shut, Joly turned to Musichetta. "Maybe..." he started, hesitating over his words. "Maybe you should distance yourself from Éponine for a while. Just until this all blows over. I-I...I don't really want you getting involved in things like this."

Musichetta's mouth dropped open. "I can't believe you would just say something like that."

"'Chetta be reasonable. This is dangerous territory. I don't want you getting mixed up in this."

"She needs help! You can't just ignore her - "

"It's not your business! Just listen to me!"

Musichetta stopped walking beside him. "I'm appalled at you Joly. You would really turn a blind eye from her? I thought you were different. I thought you were someone I wanted to marry."

"'Chetta, I'm not saying that - "

"No! There's no fixing what you just said. I'm just glad to know how you really feel." Musichetta turned on her heel and began walking down the street.

"'Chetta! 'Chetta! Please! Musichetta!"

She wouldn't turn back around and look at him, just kept walking on through the darkness.

...

Her eyes gently opened and when they finally fell back into focus, she beheld her bedroom cloaked in the early morning darkness. Éponine shifted around, ruffling the comforter, letting the ache swarm into her limbs. Montparnasse was sound asleep next to her, one arm draped possessively over her midsection.

She threw it off of her gruffly. Anger seeping through her pores the more she dwelled on everything Montparnasse had done to her. She couldn't stand it anymore, she couldn't stand _him_. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to abate the anger from swelling in her heart further. She didn't want to be mad at Montparnasse, but she couldn't help the hurt that cascaded over her mentally and even physically.

All she wanted to do was curl up, find a rock and stay under it for the rest of her life. An eternal sleep would be nice. There would be nothing more to worry about, no more hurting and grieving, no one to judge you, no mistakes to make. It would be her own black paradise inside a dark world.

Montparnasse turned over suddenly, feeling the weight of his arm move. His droopy confused eyes opened to behold Éponine and soon his features filled with mirth. Though she did not return his smile, he wrapped his arm back around her waist and tugged himself on top of hers. The dreariness in her expression was evident even under the cloak of darkness, but he was undeterred as his mouth latched onto hers.

Éponine knew what was coming next and so she let him do as he wished. Why should she try and stop him? Even if all she wanted to do was sleep? There was no point.

His tongue forced between her lips before tracing it along her chin and up her jawline. His lips began to kiss and suck the spot below her neck and already, Éponine could feel the familiar growing hardness pressing against her thigh. His left hand grabbed her wrist, pinning her arm above her head while his other hand found the hem of her shirt. His knee placed itself between her legs, gently prying them open. With another shift of his body, he sat crouched on top of her, nestled between her legs. His one hand continued its ascent up her torso, dragging her shirt up with it.

Soon, Éponine's eyes flew open in realization. If he took off her shirt, he would see the scars along her arms. He would be furious. No, he couldn't see the scars. He couldn't know that she was the cause of those. She could not let him take her. In new determination, she squirmed about in his grasp, no longer willing to comply with him. His left hand tightened itself around her wrist to keep her from struggling as his hips fell against hers to keep her rooted in place.

"Keep still," he scolded.

Éponine began to thrash her head from side to side, shimmying up the bed to try and evade his grasp. "No! Please, 'Parnasse. Not now..."

"Éponine, stop this!" His hand left her torso, grabbing ahold of her face and squeezing her cheeks.

"Please!" she begged, feeling the tears begin to form. "Not now, just please..." Her free hand pushed against his chest, trying to force him off of her. She kicked her legs about, lifting them up and pushing against his thighs.

Roughly, Montparnasse let go of her at once. "What the hell is your problem?"

She sat herself up, tucking her legs into her chest and griping the ends of her sleeves in fists. "Please," she whimpered. "I just don't want to...right now. I'm just tired."

"I don't get it, you were fine a second ago - "

"I-I...I'm just tired...please..." She looked down, watching her heel shift side to side nervously, forming wrinkles in the navy blue bed sheets.

Montparnasse narrowed his eyes and swiftly grabbed her jaw in a split second. "You don't get an option."

Éponine wriggled in his grasp, darting her eyes to the clock on the nightstand. "It's almost seven," she said timidly.

His eyes darted to where hers were previously. In an instant, he shoved her head, letting it hit the back wooden headboard as he deftly let go of her. He slowly climbed off of her and off the bed.

Éponine cautiously watched him walk about the bedroom gathering his suit from the closet, his undergarments, his socks and shoes. All the while, she felt her eyelids drooping once again and she gently laid back down on the bed. It was a small victory for her, one she could relish on and one to ease her mind if only for a moment.

Her eyes shut fully and the next thing she knew, her hair was being yanked as she fell to the ground off the bed. "Get your lazy ass out of bed! You've got better things to do than go back to sleep," Montparnasse hollered to her.

Éponine fell in a heap to the floor, the wind knocked out of her and her bruised ribs now hurting worse than before. She clutched her side in discomfort only to feel a shooting ache rip through her two middle fingers. She gasped at the alarming pain, panting before Montparnasse dragged her back to her feet.

She stood awkwardly at the side of the bed in a disheveled mess. Montparnasse turned his nose up to her. "Better," he sneered before promptly leaving the bedroom.

...

The wind outside nipped Montparnasse as he quickly walked into his building for work. Upon reaching his office, he threw his keys on his desk and shrugged off his coat. To say he was in fowl mood would be an understatement. Without his morning release that he had become so dependent on, the stresses of his life began to eat away at him. He was angry at nothing, but angry at everything at once.

Plopping himself into his office chair, Montparnasse lazily turned on his computer and waited for it to wake up. His eyes scanned the papers that someone had left on his desk overnight and then soon landed on his keys laying haphazardly. He walked his fingers over to his keys, picking them up and playing with them as he leaned back in his chair.

His eyes stopped and his hands stilled upon the little gold dog tag with his name engraved on it. He remembered when Éponine had put the tag on a keychain for him, noticing how he never wore his necklace. She had pestered him over and over about why he loved the necklace so much but insisted on not wearing it. She begged for a story about it, wanting to know exactly how he got it. Of course, Montparnasse never told Éponine about Juliana. How could he? More importantly, why should he? He deserved his own secrets from his wife.

As his fingers grazed over the engraving of his name, Montparnasse realized again just how much he missed Juliana. If only she could see him now, she would be so proud of how far he's come. Sitting in an executive position, at his own desk, in his own office, overlooking the Boston skyline. She would simply be in awe. Moreover, she would be floored to know all the new tricks he's learned. He's not some silly ten year old boy who doesn't know what he's doing anymore. No longer is he the submissive to her whims and pleas. But now a skillful husband capable of instilling the same control over his own wife, letting her fall submissive to him.

He closed his eyes, trying to recall when he was the one in submission to everyone else. When it was his friends who would control him, but at the same time, teach him to become the dominant. Well, he was always a quick learner.

...

_Seventeen year old Montparnasse's feet carried him up the rickety stairs as fast as he could go. The second door on the right, straight down the hall was his. He flew down the hallway, barely breathing as he barged into the unlocked apartment._

"'_Parnasse!" Claquesous shouted as the panting adolescent entered the room. "Where the 'ell 'ave ya been?"_

_His heavy steps made their way over to Claquesous who was seated on the couch, nursing a bottle of beer. "I know, I'm late...but look what I made!" Montparnasse reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of crinkled bills. His eyes lit up with excitement as he shared his earnings. _

_Claquesous took the handful from him and swiftly counted it. "Twenty-seven dollars? You've been out all day and all you can come back with is a bloody twenty-seven dollars?" Instantly, Claquesous stood to his feet and whacked Montparnasse across the face with the back of his hand. Montparnasse fell to his knees, clutching his cheek. "You better make twice this tomorrow unless you want my fist up your ass. Just wait until I tell Brujon how much ya made today."_

_Montparnasse lifted his eyes to Claquesous who stood towering over him. "I'll get more tomorrow...I promise - "_

"_Did I say you could look at me, boy?" Immediately, Montparnasse dropped his eyes to the ground. "Yer just lucky I'm not gonna throw you out on the streets tonight. I'm serious, if you don't start learning how to pickpocket better, no one will bat an eye when we tell you to get."_

_It was that moment, Babet made an appearance from the back bedroom. His gait was unsteady as he swayed and stumbled to the couch, eyes bloodshot and nose dripping mucous. "What's all the...yelling fer?" he slurred. _

_In the next moment, Claquesous took his seat back on the couch next to Babet. "Just telling 'Parnasse, here, how's he's gotta start earning his keep better." Babet just chuckled as his eyes rolled back in his head. Claquesous gave him a shove in the arm. "Yer no help to me," he remarked._

_Slowly, Montparnasse got to his feet again and gazed about the dingy room. "Where is Brujon?"_

"_Aye..." Claquesous started, pausing to gulp another sip of his beer. It seemed the yelling was over for now, as he returned to his normal self. "Said he'd got some business with that girlfriend o' his. Said she'd been bad lately. I don't know. He said he'd be back by now."_

_Montparnasse just nodded before retreating to the back bedroom. It must've been fifteen minutes later when he heard the front door slam again followed by some shuffling and a muffled cry. He rose to his feet to peer into the living room from the doorway. _

_There, Montparnasse saw Brujon towering over a frightened young woman. She looked to be only a year or two older than he himself was - maybe early twenties? Dirty black hair cascaded down her tear-streaked face. Her left eye was already swollen, her nose bleeding. _

"_Don't move, slut," Brujon jeered as he sent a kick to her ribs. "Montparnasse!" he then yelled. Montparnasse inched himself out of the doorway and walked fully into the living room. "Get 'ere, boy, I'm gonna teach you a lesson. You better watch, and take notes if you'd like. Now, go stand by the door."_

_The adolescent circled the couch, doing as he was instructed. The other two boys eagerly looked on as the girl laid on the ground in front of them, face to the floor._

"_Now," Brujon started, flipping her over with a rough kick and standing a leg on either side of her frail body. "Melénie, why don't you tell the boys what you've been doing the past couple of weeks."_

"_I ain't been doing nothing," she said through gritted teeth. Her answer earned her another hearty kick in the side. _

"_Now that ain't true. I caught you yesterday swapping spit with the cashier at Seven-Eleven. Explain yourself to that one." He squatted down so he was on top of her now._

"_He's just a friend." Her voice was shallow, the pain evident._

"_Oh, you expect me to believe that? What? You see me going around kissing Claquesous and Babet on the lips cause they're 'just a friend.'" She didn't have an answer this time. "Face it, girl. I caught you cheating on me! What? Am I not good enough for you anymore? Do I not satisfy you enough so that you have to go and get it somewhere else? Or did you just turn into the town whore? Ready to spread yer legs for the first guy who smiles at you? Maybe that's it!"_

_Melénie remained silent, biting her trembling lip and keeping her inky hair in front of her eyes. Brujon smirked as he clamped her jaw. _

"_Did you forget that you're mine?" he hissed. "You were the one who came to me, remember? Daddy died and you had no one to turn to." He pouted his lips, pretending to cry for her. "'Brujon, please help me. Brujon, take care of me. I'll be yours.' You disgust me!" He sucked in a breath before spitting in her face. "You are mine. You think I like to share? You think I'm okay with sharing? How about I remind you that _I'm_ the only one who can please you. _I'm_ the only one who can make you feel so good. Maybe it's just that you forgot."_

_In the next moment, Brujon's hands were across her body, groping her waist, her hips, her breasts, pushing her camisole up and exposing her bony flesh. _

"_You watching 'Parnasse?" Brujon called over to him without turning his head. "I'm going to show you how to deal with sluts like her. Sometimes they forget who they belong to. Always good to remind them. Women always need reminders." He sat back on his calves, knees resting on the ground, now pinning Melénie's arms above her head. He leered down at her, simpering. "If I ever catch you with another man again, guarantee you won't live to see tomorrow."_

_Melénie's eyes doubled and she just nodded silently, letting the water pool and run over her eyelids. _

"_Here's a trick to remember, 'Parnasse," Brujon spoke up again. Suddenly, he gripped Melénie's wrists in one of his large hands while his other hand traveled up her thigh and slowly lifted her skirt. "Sluts don't wear panties."_

_Montparnasse averted his eyes to the floor, a lump surely building in his throat at hearing a zipper unzip. He dared to look anywhere else but at Brujon and Melénie - not courageous enough to watch what was happening. He turned his eyes up to Claquesous and Babet who sat enjoying the show with grins on their faces; Claquesous' hand glued to his crotch. He was conflicted, the men didn't seem to mind what was going on, in fact they were encouraging it. This was nothing new to Montparnasse, he had seen this all before, been there himself before, but the look on Melénie's face made him feel guilty. The adolescent pressed his lips into a hard line, now watching the scene unfold before him. He noted that Melénie never cried out but instead kept her eyes screwed tight as Brujon hurled more taunts her way and thrashed into her making her whole body convulse. It was only when Melénie opened her eyes for a brief moment and locked them with Montparnasse, sending him a poignant watery glance of pure embarrassment, pity, and hatred all combined in one, that he decided to leave the room. This was too much for him._

_With no other eyes watching his moves, he ducked out of the room and back into the familiar dank hallway. He let out a long exhale and sunk to the ground, placing his head on his knees. Muffled shouts filled the air and surprisingly, none came from the room behind him. His eyes snapped open hearing a door at the end of the hallway open and he clambered to his feet, seeing those familiar dark tresses head his way._

...

When Éponine opened her eyes, she watched the small beads of blood trickling down her forearm. These cuts were shallow, looking more like scratches from a branch rather than from her own doing. For a moment, she chuckled, almost laughing at how funny the beads of blood looked as it collected together at the seam and then gently rolled off like a dropped marble.

Gracefully, she stood from the kitchen chair and walked to the counter to retrieve a paper towel. She pressed it against her arm to clot the bleeding.

Tomorrow would be Christmas, she was quick to note. It was supposed to be a joyous time, one for laughing and singing, cuddling and hot chocolate, movies and pajamas, presents and colorful lights. But she never got a Christmas like that, so why bother about it now?

Through the closed windows, she could hear a car's tires crunching the dirt as it came up the driveway, headlights pouring in through the french window and illuminating the kitchen. Éponine took a few steps to peer out the window and could see Montparnasse getting out of the car.

"Shoot," she muttered, realizing she was still holding a towel to her arm. Quickly, she wrapped another towel around her arm and shoved her sleeve over it, hoping her makeshift bandaid would last until she could make it to the bathroom. But as she expected the front door of the house to burst open, nothing happened. Éponine walked back over to the kitchen window and looked out of it again. Her eyebrows furrowed as she saw Montparnasse squatted at the base of her car, right by the front tire. What was he doing? He was leaning and looking underneath the car, then reached under it again. She couldn't see what his hands were doing as she strained on her toes to get a better look. But suddenly, as his eyes glanced over at the kitchen window, she made eye contact with him.

She gasped, jumping away from the window as if it suddenly had burst into flames. Her feet walked her into the living room, just waiting for him to make an appearance in the house. She scratched her head, wondering exactly what he was doing but she realized she wasn't going to ask. She didn't really need to know, right? Maybe he looked her way, but didn't notice her in the window? Maybe he wouldn't do anything...

The door to the house opened and closed and with a scuffle of shoes on the mat, Montparnasse made his way into the living room. "You're car was leaking oil," he announced. Oh, so he did see her watching. "But don't worry about it. Easy fix."

"Thank you," she softly said.

He shrugged his shoulders and took a spot on the couch. "They let me go home early tonight. Christmas Eve." She didn't answer him but instead watched as he held tightly to his keys, fiddling with them in his lap. "When's dinner?"

Éponine looked to the ground abruptly. "The ham's in the oven."

He turned his head around to glance at her with look of contempt. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go finish cooking it." She didn't look at him again as she walked into the kitchen hearing the rattling of his keys start once again.

As she placed the plates on the table and folded each napkin in perfect triangles, Éponine couldn't help the tear that rolled over her eyelid and down her cheek. She sloppily and hastily wiped it away before the sound of a snivel could be heard. Things had just changed so much recently. Every minute with him was colder than the last. Each day was a battle and all she longed for were those happy times once again. She yearned for his sweet voice that made her crying stop, those tender lips that would kiss each bruise and make the hurting go away; she just wanted to feel loved like he used to make her feel.

…

"_You ungrateful bitch! You wretched little creature! Don't you understand the things we do for you? You've got some nerve to ask me for a present!" Thénardier taunted as he grasped Éponine in his arms, shaking her and shoving her across the living room. _

"_Stop!" Azelma shouted through her tears from her corner of the room. "It's not 'Ponine…I was the one who asked her."_

"_Quiet, 'Zelma," Éponine hissed at her younger sister. _

"_So wha'? It's the two o' ya? Who would'a thought I raised such ungracious beasts. You've all don't deserve a damned thing. After all the yelling and the punishing? Don't you two know how to behave? How to say 'Yes, sir?'"_

"…_but Christmas will be here next week, daddy," Azelma whined in a sobbing tone. _

_His dark eyes met her balled form in the corner and immediately he let go of Éponine, letting her fall to the ground as he sauntered over to his youngest daughter. Azelma screamed as he approached her, quivering and shaking against the wall._

"_Pipe down, you brat!" her mother shouted, peeking her head from behind the kitchen wall. "It's what you get for speaking out of turn!" She brought her cigarette to her lips, leaning against the door frame and watching as Thénardier latched onto his daughter's hair. Azelma struggled in his grasp. _

_Éponine thought quickly. "You know what I want for Christmas, daddy," she called out to him. Thénardier tried to ignore her as he focused on Azelma. "A new dad," she quipped. _

_Like lightning, Thénardier let go of Azelma's hair, dropping her to the ground ungraciously. His menacing eyes whipped to hers as he stalked over to her in three large steps. Éponine's body visibly shrunk and her eyes doubled before his fist connected with her mouth. She fell to the ground, tasting blood. Her mind felt dazed, her eyes closing involuntarily. She barely registered Azelma screaming again in the background. _

"_Shut her up!" she heard her father shout. _

_And all too soon, Éponine could feel herself being lifted from the ground, his hands around her neck, squeezing and crushing her tiny bones between his large fists, extracting the life from her with each second. Her toes dangled on the ground as she clutched his arm trying to lift herself higher in vain. His breath was so close to her, she could smell the Samuel Adams as if it were fresh. At the last second, when the blackness was swarming the edges of her vision, the air flooded back into her lungs as she groped the ground, all the while trying to make her head stop spinning._

_His hot breath was next to her ear this time. "Why were you made so wrong?" he jibed._

_Éponine kept gulping in large chunks of air, hearing his feet storm away from her. She waited until her father was in the next room so she could crawl to the front door. Her mother couldn't see her from the kitchen and Azelma was now currently under a blanket on the couch. She opened the door, righted herself up and left the apartment. _

_As the tears streamed down her face, she forced a smile at seeing the one person she needed. "Montparnasse," she said quietly, trying to hide the tremor in her voice._

_He rose to his feet from his spot on the ground at seeing her approach. "Oh, 'Ponine..." In the next second, Montparnasse's tender hands were cupping her face, pulling her into him and holding her tight against his chest as the tears flowed endlessly once again. He fell against the wall, and slid to the ground with her this time, wrapping his legs around her balled form as he rocked the poor girl into him. She clutched his shirt tightly, not realizing she was staining it with blood. _

_Slowly, she peeled back from him and Montparnasse reached a gentle hand up to brush her lower lip. "He got you good this time," he whispered, moving his finger over the slice in her cheek. She winced at the pain. "Sorry," he murmured. "What did you do this time?" he asked after a long while. _

_Éponine sniveled, curling herself tighter into his arms. "He was drunk. He just overheard me and 'Zelma talking about Christmas presents."_

_Montparnasse nodded solemnly. "Where is Azelma now?"_

"_I left her on the couch sleeping. I think my dad finally passed out in the bedroom."_

"_And your mom?"_

"_In the kitchen."_

"_Gav?"_

"_Haven't seen him in a day. He does this sometimes." Montparnasse nodded again, this time not saying anything. His fingers lightly stroked her arm up and down, letting her trembling cease. "I just wanted to see you," she spoke up quietly. "Can we go to your room?"_

_She made a move to stand to her feet, but Montparnasse's grip on her tightened. "Not now," he stated. "It's not safe in there right now."_

"_Is that why you're out here?"_

_A smile graced his lips. "Always so nosy, 'Ponine." He bopped her on the nose lightly and then pulled her back down to his chest, resting his cheek on the top of her head. "You should probably be getting back soon."_

"_I know," she said, but neither made a move to get up. Éponine's hand instinctively curled tighter into his shirt. "Can we just stay here for a few more minutes?"_

_He nodded his cheek against her head. "Just a few more."_

_She smiled contentedly and closed her eyes; that was all she needed._

_..._

The water was flowing from her eyes now in a silent torrential downpour. She took in a shallow breath, forcing herself to stop the tears before she had to see her husband.

Creeping slowly into the living room, Éponine stopped behind the couch, seeing Montparnasse clenching his keys tightly in his hand. "'P-Parnasse...dinner is ready...but...um...can I go to the bathroom first?"

"If you make it quick."

She turned away about to go but something within her stopped her from moving. She knew she wasn't supposed to speak to him unless he spoke to her first, but she just had a small question. She just wanted to know. And knowledge couldn't hurt, right?

"Why do you keep clutching your keys?"

He stood from the couch in an instant, eyes ablaze and jaw set, towering over her with the couch between them as her only protection. He hurled the keys at the wall behind her, making her flinch. "Did I say you could speak to me?"

Éponine wrapped her arms tightly around herself, protecting herself from his words. "N-no."

"Then why the hell are you talking?"

She shook her head at a loss for words. Montparnasse whipped around and picked up the remote on the coffee table, he immediately chucked it against the wall, watching it shatter apart. Next he turned to the lamp on the table and knocked it over, the bulb crashing against the ground.

Éponine yelped, hugging herself tighter. He stalked about the room, flinging objects and flipping tables, smashing their framed picture to the floor. He went into the kitchen, grabbing every item from the table and colliding it onto the floor, letting the food splatter and the shards disperse like spilled water. She couldn't move but only watched him destroy anything in sight.

Finally, his gaze landed on Éponine and her eyes visibly doubled.

"You make me sick," he spit, curling up his lip in disgust. "There's a reason why no one likes you. Hell, you even disgust me."

"Then, I'll leave..." she whispered boldly, staring at the floor, rather than his eyes.

He tossed his head back laughing. "You think someone will take in the sorry likes of you? You're damaged goods. You have no where to go without me. There isn't another person who will understand you like I do. You don't even have a pretty enough face to be a whore. You're a filthy. Dirty. Disgusting. Creature."

She couldn't help it as the tears rained from her eyes again.

"I hate you! I hate everything about you! I hate what you've done to me! Look at who you've made me become!"

Éponine sobbed harder the closer he got to her. He latched onto her upper arms and walked her backwards until she slammed into the wall.

"You want to see what I can do now? Huh? You want to see how good I've gotten?" His face smiled wickedly. "Oh, the things I could do to you..."

In an instant, Montparnasse grabbed Éponine's wrist, pulling her toward the bedroom. "No!" she shouted in agony. "No! Please! No!"

She struggled and pulled against him with all the strength she could muster but Montparnasse's strength was no match for her.


	20. Of Needing Him

**A/N: Obviously, I hope you all have noticed that this chapter had risen the story to M. I'm so sorry for this chapter. God, I really am. But trust me. Nothing is worst than this chapter. **

**So sorry I haven't updated for a bit, but this chapter was extremely hard to write, and it took me days to prepare to write it, and I needed to have it looked over by some. So thank you MaryEvH and BreakthisSpell626 for just being terrific in helping me out. I real appreciate it completely. I've contemplated posting this, but I realized if I warn enough and rate this story higher…perhaps you won't find reason to hate me for it?**

**WARNINGS: Full on - in depth, marital rape. There is no sugarcoating it. But I did try to lighten the pace by interweaving the scenes. Maybe that helped?**

**I'd really appreciate you letting me know what you think. I am so sorry for this chapter. But rest assured, there is nothing worse than this coming. This is the epitome of badness. I swear. But if you don't have the courage to read this chapter, I will advise you to skip to the next one. No big deal. **

**Reader discretion is strongly advised.**

**Thank you all once again. I honestly hope you'll still like me after this chapter. (And no back talk Alex! You really might not like me after this one. But this is me worrying once again)**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 20 - Of Needing Him

...

How quickly people can change, how much the world can suddenly fall around, and how awful it is to fear the one person you love most. To realize this all in one night is like the setting fire to your mind - and in the numbness of Éponine's mind, it was like a massive implosion.

Montparnasse tugged her along down the hallway as she planted her feet, struggled, pulled, kicked, and cried.

"Please don't, 'Parnasse. Please, not tonight," she begged between sobs as soon as he tossed her into the bedroom and slammed the door.

"Strip," he ordered.

Éponine hugged her arms around herself, fisting the material of her sleeves. Her head shook wildly back and forth. "...n-no."

His anger intensified enough to see red across his vision. "Are you refusing me?" he growled, grasping her shoulders and tossing her to the ground. "What gives you the right to refuse me?"

Her arms never let go of her shirt and slowly she sat herself up, curling into a ball on the floor. "Please..." was the only word she could find.

"I gave you an order, now do it!"

Éponine buried her soggy face into her knees, trying in vain to pretend she was elsewhere. Too soon though, she felt his furious hands groping the material of her shirt and she desperately held it tighter. He gave her a kick in the thigh, next grabbing a handful of her hair and hoisting her to her feet. The pain shooting though her scalp made her let go of her balled form, scrabbling to stand in an effort to lessen the pain. Immediately, Montparnasse pushed her against the base of the bed where she ungraciously landed on her back, knees bent over the end of the bed. His body held her down while his hands began lifting her shirt overhead once again.

She fought against his movements with adrenaline coursing through her veins. Each time she held down the material of her shirt, his palm collided with her cheek. These repetitive movements continued another five times before Montparnasse gave up, reaching for the button and zipper on her pants.

"No!" she shouted in sudden panic. She shimmied her leg from underneath him and pulled it back so her knee was touching her shoulder. As Montparnasse made hasty effort to counteract her movements, she let her foot fly forward, striking his chin with her heel.

He reeled back dazed for a moment and turned his steel gaze to her once again, this time in a look full of vengeance and loathing. "Bitch!" he hollered, instantly letting go of her completely.

Éponine sat breathless for a moment as he stomped to his bedside table. She didn't remove her eyes from his as she tried to catch her breath. It all happened in seconds, one moment she was staring into Montparnasse's cold eyes and the next she was staring down the barrel of a gun.

...

He thought he would be off for Christmas Eve, he thought the Musain was supposed to be closed on Christmas Eve, he thought people would rather be spending time with their families on Christmas Eve, but it turns out, he was wrong.

Enjolras refilled yet another beer under the tap and placed it in front of a customer.

"Thanks," the skinny man brusquely replied.

Enjolras could only smile politely in response before walking away, not seemingly interested in making conversation with the man. He leaned back against the wall of alcohol, sighing in frustration and taking in the bar scene.

In all, there must have been five people in the whole establishment, including himself and Courfeyrac. There were two men siting in the far corner, and the skinny man sitting in the middle of the bar counter. Enjolras groaned, rolling his head from one shoulder to the next. He couldn't understand why the boss made them stay open tonight. Most other places had closed early, so why did they have to stay open? But he counted down the hours until two a.m. when they would close and he could then return home. Only five more hours to go.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a beaming young woman enter the bar. For a second he was dumbstruck; she looked just like Éponine. But after a moment longer of staring, he sadly realized she was not. This woman had the same long dark hair - perhaps a bit darker - and hers was softly curled at the ends. She was about the same height with the same svelte frame. Her skin was the same pale but her features were sharper and longer. Her eyes were bright, but not nearly as wide as Éponine's. And the most notable difference, she was wearing a pale pink pea coat, nothing like Éponine's signature white one.

The young woman approached the bar counter and sat down alone. Without a thought, Enjolras' feet carried him to her. "Hey, anything I can get you tonight?" he asked as she looked up to him.

She smiled politely and shook her head. "I'm actually here to see Courfeyrac."

Enjolras' eyes widened. "Oh, Courf? A friend of his?"

"You could say that. I'm his girlfriend."

His jaw dropped. "Courf never mentioned - "

"I know, I know. We've been keeping it quiet...but yesterday we decided to come out about it."

Enjolras stood in shock. He gaped at her, forgetting where he was for a moment. "Oh! Okay. Right, let me go get him." Faltering a moment longer, he turned side to side trying to remember where Courfeyrac was. Suddenly remembering, Enjolras turned left to head into the back room. "I'm Courf's friend by the way," he called to her over his shoulder. "You can call me Enjolras."

With no other words, he disappeared into the back room.

...

Montparnasse pointed the black revolver straight at her, arms locked in position, fingers set on the trigger. He wouldn't shoot her, would he? Didn't he love her? Why would he do this? Whatever the answer was, she didn't want to ask to find out. Her face drained of all color, heart rate increasing, thumping loud in her ears. The world seemed to fall away and the thick silence invaded.

"Don't make me tell you again. I. Said. _Strip_." His voice was arctic, low, and commanding, instilling fear with each syllable.

When she hesitated too long, she clearly heard the cock of the gun and saw the gentle motion of his fingers pull down the back lever. She gulped, hoping he couldn't hear, but knowing he did. Éponine closed her eyes and tentatively, began to peel her shirt over her head. She kept her arms tucked in the sleeves as she brought the material to rest in front of her.

"Keep going," his austere tone demanded.

Slowly, she shrugged off the rest of the material and tossed the warm shirt aside, feeling the rush of cool air hit her skin. Éponine was careful to keep the insides of her arms facing her body, concealing them from his sight for as long as she could. Next, she lifted up her hips and slid off her dress pants, letting those fall to the floor as well.

Putting a careful foot behind the other, Montparnasse took a step backward, keeping his eyes fixed on Éponine while she reached around for the latch on her bra. He walked backward, gun still pointed at her, until he came to his dresser. Without looking, he opened the small drawer on top and pulled out two ties, not caring which ones he grabbed.

Éponine's bra now lay discarded with the rest of the clothes and she hooked her thumbs in her underwear to slide them off as well.

"Stop," he levelly said and she quickly wrapped her arms back around herself.

Montparnasse walked toward her again, gun aimed right at her head, but as he got closer, he lowered the gun to the bedside table. Éponine let out a small breath of relief before he seized her wrist. She pulled against him but as soon as she resisted in the slightest, his left fist smacked into her temple. In an instant, he had full control of her left arm.

But his eyes widened suddenly as he saw the long strips of red lines running down her arms; some even still fresh and oozing crimson liquid. His voice became calm, tempered but unwavering.

"These aren't mine."

...

"Aw! Baby!" Courfeyrac called, reaching over the bar counter to give the girl in the pale pink coat a kiss on her lips.

Enjolras stood back a bit, content just watching them.

"So, have you found anything?" Courfeyrac asked her in a hushed voice.

She shook her head. "Nothing yet. Courfeyrac, I'm worried...I just - "

"No, shh...it'll be fine. You shouldn't be worrying about it now anyway."

"Yes, but - "

"How about a drink? It'll be on the house, my treat."

She looked a bit hesitant, contemplating before she nodded slightly. "Alright...something light though."

Courfeyrac walked away from her and Enjolras took this as his opportunity to talk to her. "So, girlfriend, huh?" he smirked.

"Yup, three months," she said with a light-hearted sigh and a dreamy gaze in her eyes.

"Well, that's something. Good for Courf for keeping it a secret so long. Usually, you can't tell him anything."

She chuckled lightly and then fell silent.

Enjolras waited for her to continue but she just looked back to Courfeyrac across the way. "So, what are you doing here tonight? Don't you have family to spend the holiday with?"

She shook her head, the smile falling from her face and a sigh escaping her lips. "Well, no...I don't speak to my dad anymore. My mom passed away. My brother is upstate and my sister..." She sighed heavily this time. "I can't get in touch with my sister. That's...um...actually why I came here...to be with Courfeyrac."

"What happened that you can't reach her?"

The young woman sighed again, looking down to her hands and debating whether to tell him or not. "Just some trouble, that's all. It's got me a bit worried. I'm sure I'm just overreacting...but it's my sister, you know? Sometimes you can't help but be worried."

Enjolras nodded. "I know the feeling," he muttered.

"Really? Do you now?" she asked, a smile hinting on her lips.

He looked to the ground, rubbing his hands together. "Yeah...my friend...well, she comes here a lot - well she did. I know things are bad for her at home, but I'm just in a dilemma...I don't know how to help. I just don't know if she wants help either. The situation just has me stressed and I'm worried for her sake. I just don't know what the right thing to do is." He finished up his little speech with a sigh.

"Tell me about it," she scoffed. "Sounds like my situation. I just don't know what to do." She grimaced, looking around, hoping to distract herself from the thoughts plaguing her mind. Suddenly, she looked up to Enjolras again, lightening her mood. "But what about you, bartender? Why aren't you with your family?"

Enjolras picked up on her change of pace and opted for the lighter conversation. "Got roped into working tonight actually. But, it's alright. My parents...well...I'm sure I'll be able to see them for New Year's."

Courfeyrac interrupted them and placed a pink drink in front of his girlfriend. "So what are you two chatting about?"

"Eh, just about what we're both doing here on Christmas Eve," she answered.

"Ah, don't we all wish we were home?" he chuckled. "Well, so have you two officially met? This here, is my good friend Enjolras. Been friends since our college days when we shared the same hatred for psychology. And Enjolras, this is my girlfriend, Azelma."

Enjolras froze, eyes widening. "_Azelma_?" he asked in disbelief.

...

Éponine's mind was so panicked, she sat frozen in place. Her breathing had stopped, her eyes permanently wide, and her blood pressure rising to dangerous extremes.

"Who. Did. This?" Montparnasse continued.

She couldn't answer him, in fact, she couldn't do anything. In the next breath, he claimed her other arm, turning it over and exposing similar dried red lines running across her pale skin.

"You did this to yourself?" he interrogated, baffled by her motivations to do such a thing.

Her mouth stayed quiet, eyes downcast as she stared at her arms just as he was doing. His hands tightened around her wrists but she didn't let out a sign indicating the pain.

"What gives you the right to touch something that doesn't belong to you?" His eyes bored into her, giving her ample time to respond. "Answer me," he demanded in her stillness. Yet she stayed silent, caught in a harrowing situation, knowing there would never be an acceptable answer. But she relished in her silence for it was the one thing he could never take from her. "Answer me!"

He slammed her back against the bed in rage, grabbing one of her wrists in his vice-like hands and wrapping a tie tightly around it. Her tears fell again steadily as he threaded the tie to the top post of the bed and knotted it off. She thrashed against him again, kicking her legs out, baring her teeth and doing everything she could to keep unrestrained. But her motions did nothing to stop him as he straddled her, grasping her other wrist and similarly tied it up.

Éponine pulled and pulled against the ties, hoping the slick material would give way but nothing loosened; the knots were too strong. Her heart was pounding like waves against rocks, hurdling into her chest, ready to break out and truly leave her alone. Montparnasse sat back on her pelvis, letting a smirk cross his features as he admired his handy work. In seconds, the smirk was gone, being replaced by an expression of pure abhorrence.

"You are mine...or did you forget that?"

She stayed quiet, biting her lip to hold in the sob that threatened to force its way out of her lips.

Her silence only made his anger grow as he grabbed ahold of the side of her face, forcing her eyes to look into his. "You. Are. Mine." He released her with a shove. "You don't have any right to touch my property. Only I am allowed to touch you. Perhaps I need to remind you that I own you. Perhaps I should show you again what is _mine_."

She stilled, frozen in place, scared to even move the slightest from position. It was as if he were headlights shining right at her, keeping her locked in place.

Montparnasse leaned forward on her, running his spread fingers down the length of her stretched out arms. "These are mine," he purred. Soon, lifting an index finger and tracing a gentle line from her temple to her jaw teasingly all the while smearing her tears along her cheek. "This is all mine." The line of his finger continued down the hollow of her throat, descending lower between her breasts.

Her chest heaved from the feel of his electric touch; her breath shallow and raw.

In an instant, all gentleness forgotten, he enveloped both hands on her breasts and squeezed. "_These_ are mine!" He didn't let go, pressing harder, taking enjoyment in her contorting facial expressions.

Her mouth hung open in a silent scream, but he wanted to hear her. He clipped her nipples between his thumb and index finger, pinching tightly, pressing his nails into the soft flesh. Éponine's eyes screwed shut as an agonized cry fell into the stillness of the room. She pulled and pulled at the restraints, twisting her body from underneath him, trying to shake him off - do anything to make him stop.

"I know you're enjoying it," he sneered with a smile hanging from his lips.

"Please," she panted and suddenly he let go. She kept her eyes closed, concentrating on her breathing and trying to forget what was happening.

But he was nowhere near done yet. His fingers glided their way down her midsection. "All mine," he whispered as he hooked his hands in her panties and began dragging them down her legs.

"Please, no!" she cried, desperately shaking her head and kicking out her legs.

Montparnasse was undeterred by her protestations as he easily accomplished his goal and tossed her panties off the bed. He sat by her feet, each hand now grasping an ankle. "Mine," he stated as he began spreading her legs farther. Éponine's body shook as the sobs overtook her once again. He scooted up her body so he was sitting on his calves between her thighs, knees keeping her legs pried open. Montparnasse grasped the folds of her center, tugging them and clamping them together. "And this, especially _this,_ is mine. _All mine_. I own it, and I have the right to do whatever the hell I want with it."

"…No." The tiny word just fell from her lips in a breath. She didn't even consciously think about it but the word came out of her mouth before she had even realized.

His eyes shifted darker as he stared, taken aback in disbelief. "No?" he repeated calmly. "Did you really just tell me, _no_? No! NO!"

Immediately, Montparnasse was off her and on his feet once again. He swiftly worked at unlatching his belt and swooped it from his belt loops with a _snap_. "What the _hell_ is wrong with you?" The crack of the belt came down across her stomach without any warning as he enunciated the word "hell." Éponine's body convulsed from the pain, squirming from the sting. "You are _MINE_!" The belt rained down again, this time across her breasts on the word, "mine." She cried out, screaming at each blow, but it was no use, her screams did nothing but spur him on. He yelled insults at her, picking particular words to smash the belt across her pale flesh. "Get it through your _thick_ skull. You are _mine_." She gasped and cried, shrieking from the blows as the tears ran down her face.

She was at his mercy. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide, no way to protect herself, no way to make him stop. "Please," she howled.

"You think you have a right to destroy something that's _mine_? Did you think you could _hide_ it from me? Did you think I wouldn't _find_ out? You think you're not _mine_? Oh, my dear, you have no _idea_ what I can do to you. I will make you believe it." He smirked with each strike, feeling the muscles within him tighten; arousal slowly overtaking his anger.

Éponine hissed in pain, body writhing uncontrollably, eyes producing endless tears. The final blow left her weak as she panted for precious air to cycle to her lungs. Montparnasse stared her down, resting the hand with the belt by his side. Within a heartbeat, he dropped the belt to the floor, closed his eyes, and took a menacing step toward her.

"I will show you just how much I own you," he taunted upon opening his eyes. "You know, I've learned some new tricks over the years. I think it's time I show you just what I can do. You ready for _my_ Christmas present?"

...

"...um, yes?" Azelma asked, with a confused smile hanging from her lips.

"Azelma? As in, Éponine's sister, Azelma?" Enjolras asked, making sure to clarify.

She nodded before she stilled in realization, eyes widening as well. "Wait, you know Éponine?"

"Yeah, of course! She's my friend," Enjolras explained. "You know, the one I don't know how to help."

Azelma covered her mouth with her hand. "Oh God," she muttered, closing her eyes and taking in this new information. "This is too much..."

"Please," Enjolras started. "Just, you've got to explain some of this to me - "

"Wait a second," Courfeyrac jumped in, finally putting the pieces together. "So, Éponine is your sister? Why didn't I know that?"

Azelma shrugged. "Never came up, I guess. I don't talk to her - "

"Right," Enjolras interrupted. "She said something about you two being in a fight...?"

She nodded, averting her gaze as if she were ashamed of something. "Yeah, I haven't really spoken to her in years. Haven't even seen her since a family dinner my dad tried to set up two years ago. God, that was horrific." She tried to smile, chuckle a bit, anything to lighten the mood. But as she glanced back to Enjolras, she could see he wasn't in a mood to joke. "Right," she continued. "Well, growing up, I was always jealous of Éponine. She got everything, she did everything, everyone noticed her, everyone liked her. Me, I was just the shadow. The forgotten middle child. I couldn't even stand up for myself. 'Ponine always was stronger than me, she always had a good heart and I just envied her for it."

"So that's why you both don't talk to each other?" Enjolras cut in rather rudely. Courfeyrac shot him a look, silently berating him for his attitude.

"Well, not exactly, but it's part of the reason."

"I'm listening."

"When we moved here to Boston when we were little, we both met Montparnasse right away. He was such a kind kid and we instantly both fell head-over-heels for him. But he picked Éponine. Of course he would pick Éponine, though, I mean...who wouldn't?" She forced a smile and then let it fall. "Well, Montparnasse never paid any attention to me, and he always forgot my name. I just - I just was jealous of Éponine. She even got the guy! Even when she had that stupid crush on some other kid in school, Montparnasse _still_ doted on her! Seriously..."

She sighed, shaking her head of the thoughts.

"So, one day when I was a freshman, I was walking home from school and I saw Montparnasse beating up some man in an alley. He didn't know I saw him, but I was horrified. I assumed he took his money...and I don't know, I didn't say anything or do anything, I just ran away. And I told 'Ponine, first thing. She didn't believe me and from that day I didn't like Montparnasse anymore. I mean, it's one thing to get beat for your punishment, but another to get robbed and beaten. That poor man didn't do anything..."

Enjolras inwardly groaned at hearing Azelma talk so casually about being "punished." But he didn't interrupt her, only waved a hand, gesturing for her to get on with her story.

"Right, well, then a few years later, Éponine told me she was getting married to Montparnasse. Oh, I was mad. I yelled at her, I called him every foul name I could think of, and I begged her not to do it. I just knew he was trouble." Azelma sighed over dramatically. "But she said he'd changed. And he did, I guess. Got himself a respectable job, enough money, bought them a home, and gave her her dream wedding. But still, I just begged her not to marry him, I wanted her to find a real gentleman, a real nice guy. We both deserved that, right?"

Courfeyrac reached over and took Azelma's fidgeting hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

She smiled back to him warmly. "Well she married him anyway. And I never forgave her for it. But then again, maybe I was just overly jealous, she got a happy ending, a good husband who could take care of her, a nice house, a job, and I? I got two more years alone with our father 'cause I couldn't afford my own apartment at the time."

"But you had a brother, right?" Courfeyrac asked.

"No, child services finally took him away. He got placed in a nice family, up North now. I don't ever get to see him though. But as for me? I was legally allowed to leave, but where was I supposed to go? Mom had already died at that point. The cigarettes killed her," she said, knowing Courfeyrac was about to ask. "So, I stayed. I was just bitter for a while. Éponine got to leave and so did Gavroche and I got gipped."

Enjolras gave her a sympathetic stare. "But you're here now, because of Éponine, right? You said you were worried about her?"

"Well, yes. Apparently, she told Montparnasse I've been hanging out with her so he called me one day, about a month ago, looking for her. He was so angry...and I didn't realize I should've lied to help her. I said I haven't seen her in years. And he was pissed...and since then, I've just had a bad feeling. I don't know what kind of trouble 'Ponine's gotten into that she's had to lie to him...but I knew when he found her, it wasn't going to end well for her."

"So," Enjolras bit out, features turning to stone. "You've known she been getting hurt by her husband, and yet you do _nothing_?"

Azelma looked flustered. "No! I didn't - I mean, I had a feeling, but I don't talk to her. I wouldn't know. She doesn't - she wouldn't tell me!"

"Shh, calm down," Courfeyrac intervened. He turned a sharp eye to Enjolras. "Leave her alone, Enj, she didn't know."

"Éponine is fighting for her life!"

"You don't know that!" Courfeyrac shouted back.

"She could end up dead! And you." He looked down to Azelma. "You've _known_? And you didn't say anything?"

"She wouldn't even want to speak to me! What else was I supposed to do?" she barked back with as much force as he was throwing her way.

"I don't know, maybe be a sister? Maybe call her? Or stop by her house? Anything! This happened a month ago! A whole month!"

"Don't you get mad at me! You don't even know the first thing about my sister! Who are you to be telling me what I should've done?"

Enjolras grit his teeth. "I know more about your sister, than I bet you do. Éponine is _my_ friend. She's told me exactly what's happened to her!"

"Oh yeah? Then why didn't you call her? Why didn't you help her if you knew what was happening?"

His nostrils flared before he let out a long exhale, calming himself. "Because I don't know where she lives and because she doesn't want help."

Azelma looked back and forth between Courfeyrac and Enjolras, letting out a long sigh. "I don't even know how to begin to help her. I lost their address a few years back. Never even been to their house. I'm afraid if I call and he picks up, things might get worse for her. I've been looking all over town. But Boston's a big city, it's like a needle in a haystack." She shook her head this time, watching Enjolras fall onto his elbows on the counter. "Looks like we're both stuck," she surmised hopefully.

Enjolras rubbed his temples as he closed his eyes in contemplation. "...well, shit."

...

Montparnasse smiled sadistically, ignoring the sounds of her incessant sobs. He eerily sat on the end of the bed to remove his shoes and socks and then stood upright again to slide off his trousers, revealing his already hard member. He climbed on top of her precariously, parting her legs and nestling between them once again. He gently peeled off his boxer briefs and positioned himself above her.

Éponine had no strength to fight him off this time, but she realized words might be her only defense left. "Don't do this, 'Parnasse...I'm begging you...please stop." His fingers traced patterns along the angry red lines already forming on her skin, not seemingly interested in her words. She winced with even the slightest touch he made. "D-don't you love me?" she whispered.

His eyes snapped up to hers. "I love you very much, my dear. I'm only doing this because I love you."

With no other words, Montparnasse plunged into her, letting a sharp cry emit from her lungs and into the air. "That's right, baby," he sneered, pulling his hips back and slamming into her. "You're mine, you're mine," he chanted to each thrust.

Éponine cried harder, trying to squirm away in vain. He gripped her waist in a bruising hold, using her for leverage with every shove. Each thrust was excruciating, as he slammed into her repeatedly, stretching her and filling her to the brim. "Stop!" she yelled hopelessly. "_Please..._stop!" Her body trembled beneath him, eyes glued shut - not wanting to look at the monster before her. She pulled harder at the restraints, using every bit of strength she could find, pushing herself to the extremes while exhausting herself.

"Your body is mine," he continued, voice low and domineering. "It does what I want. It reacts only to me. Only I can read your body." His eyes slammed shut as he slowed down his movements. "I've missed you so much," he murmured, grinding himself firmly against her, pushing in deeper. "You like what I can do? You like me better now? Enough to stay?" He dropped his mouth right next to Éponine's ear, ignoring her further cries and protests of agony. "Well this time, things are different. This time, you do what I want. This time, _you're mine._"

Her whole body shook forcibly, wracking back and forth in fresh sobs. Her mind couldn't comprehend him; he wasn't making any sense. Her thoughts muddled together, looking for any reason in this situation, only to find none.

"Come for me," his smooth voice broke through to her. "Show me how much you love it, baby. Come for me."

Éponine shook her head back and forth, heaving in silent protests.

Montparnasse couldn't take much more of her insubordination as he whirled back his hand and slapped her in the face. "Come for me!" he demanded impatiently. "I know you love it. Your body doesn't lie to me. You want me, you love this. Come for me, come for me!" He increased his tempo again, pulling out only to slam into her again with more force than before.

Éponine didn't want to, she didn't want to give him the satisfaction of the torture, but with each thrust hitting deeper and deeper, her body was reacting whether she wanted it to or not. The friction was growing between them, like electrically charged particles, building momentum, building heat. Her mind was a grey cloud, thoughts jumbling together, not knowing which way was even up anymore. Her heart rate was rapid, forcing her whole chest to rise with each beat. Her nerves were shot, twitching out of control; limbs jerking left and right, up and down. Everything was growing, the pace, the speed, the heat, the thoughts, the shaking - until finally she exploded.

She screamed; a cry piercing the silence of the room, splintering her lungs until her breath ran out. Her whole body went rigid, muscles tightening throughout her, and her mind fell blank, desolate, shattering into a million fragmented pieces.

Montparnasse grinned wickedly and closed his eyes softly. "That's right," he whispered, letting his body follow suit. The feeling was heavenly, overtaking him, pushing him to the brink of ecstasy as he emptied himself into her. His mouth parted slightly, resting right beside her head as his hands clamped tightly to her waist. He let out a single breath, "…Juliana."

The room fell still with only their breaths invading the insatiable tranquility.

Éponine lay spent, feeling as if she were dead, thinking that perhaps maybe if she were dead, it wouldn't be such a bad thing. The pain would be gone, her thoughts nonexistent, no worry, no grief, no strife…just calm. But her eyes parted from the white haze overtaking her vision, giving her a clear glimpse at the bedroom ceiling and the tuffs of black hair haphazardly in front of her - and Éponine knew that she was not dead. No, death would be too easy a solution for her and so life would not give it to her. It didn't take long for her brain to process what had just happened and soon a sob racked through her again.

Drearily, Montparnasse lifted his head from her chest and he glared at her crying features ominously. "Whose are you?" he asked in an exasperated voice.

She took in a shaky breath, closing her eyes and letting a few more fresh tears rain down the sides of her face. "…yours."

"Damn, right."

He pushed himself up on his hands and begrudgingly wrenched out of her body, causing another strangled cry to rip from her lungs. With no care and grace, he uncoiled the ties from her hands before he collapsed on his side of the bed.

Instantly, Éponine shrunk away from him, turning onto her side and curling her legs into her chest, feeling the ache of every muscle pinch at her. Between her legs felt sticky, but she didn't have the courage to look. Her whole body was on fire, throbbing at every muscle, every seam. Her eyes hurt from the strain of the tears, her wrists burned from the confines of the tie, and her head pounded from the rush of blood boiling through it. She could hear a rustling beside her between the noise from her incessant sobs. She felt the bed dip and the covers shifting before it went still. Éponine was curious to see him, but even though she wanted to, she wouldn't turn her head. All she could do was sob into the night, not caring how loud she was or how much her own body hurt from the constant racking of it, none of that mattered right now.

She just wished she could understand any of this. Why wouldn't he listen to her when she said to stop? What made him do this to her? What made him turn into a creature she had never seen before? Where was her caring husband, the man she married, the man she truly loved? For this man, right now, was a man she far from loved. But maybe this was all her fault, right? It always was her fault in the end; she knew that. She should never had started cutting in the first place, she knew it would only end badly. She knew that, yet she did it anyway. Oh, how stupid she was! Montparnasse was right when he called her stupid. That's all she was.

She didn't even want to look at her husband right now. She was disgusted by him, repulsed at even the thought that her own body was not even hers. He had taken everything from her and left her with nothing, not even her dignity, not even her pride. It was all ripped away, shredded into a billion pieces, incinerated, and scattered into the wind, never to be seen again.

She. Had. Nothing.

Her mind ached too much to dwell on the thought any longer. She needed to do something - anything - right now; anything to distract her thoughts, anything to make the hurt go away, anything to comfort her. But was it bad that the one person whose comfort she longed for right now was not her husband's? She wanted to hear that one voice she had been deprived of for so long, that one silk voice that _actually_ cared for her.

She could call him. She should dial his number secretly and quietly, just to hear only one word from him. She just needed to hear him say her name - just her name - and from there she would know everything was going to be okay.

Slowly, Éponine shifted around, gently moving her pained legs to slide off the bed and to her feet. As she moved her thighs, she felt the oozing stickiness across her skin and leisurely lowered her eyes to look at the splatters of crimson staining her legs. She grit her teeth, forcing herself to push through it. Carefully, she lowered her leg from the height of the bed and when she was about to rest her toe on the ground, she heard the click of the gun behind her.

"Step one foot off this bed and I swear to God, I will kill you."

Éponine carefully retracted her leg and tucked it back into her chest, hugging herself tighter. Her face scrunched together and the sobs started again, but she quieted for a moment hearing the clatter of the gun being placed back on the nightstand. When she heard his exasperated sigh, she couldn't help but let out another loud sob.

"Éponine?" his voice gently spoke. The word was kind, cajoling even.

Silently, Éponine picked her head up off the bed and turned slightly to listen to him. For a moment, she thought he was going to apologize for his behavior, for everything he had just done to her, for everything he made her feel. Yes, then she could look past this, she could pretend they were okay again, she could love him again and she could forgive him. With great effort and hope in her tone, she found the breath to speak just a word, "…yes?"

"Shut up."

...

That night, she wished for him dead.

She dreamed that it was his body being abused, that he was the one being tortured, tied up against his will, manipulated, punished, and used. Yes, she wished all of that on him, just so that he might understand the depravity of his actions towards her. She loathed him; hatred burning deep within her all night, fueling the anger and overwhelming sadness for what had actually happened.

Her dreams only replayed the events of what happened, forcing her to relive it every time she closed her eyes. Her eyes would shoot open during the night, remembering his hot breath on her face, the crack of the belt, the tightness of the knots, the weight of him holding her down, and the pain.

Her dreams did nothing to ease her mind, instead they only brought her more anxiety.

Soon, the hours of night disappeared and she watched the sun rise through the French doors of the bedroom, seeing the sky turn into vermillion through the trees. It was only then, Éponine snuck out of the bedroom. Montparnasse was still sleeping and frankly, she didn't care what he did or what he thought. She needed to take care of herself.

So, she cleaned herself up the best she could, keeping quiet all throughout the house, tugged on a pair of sweatpants, grabbed her coat and keys and raced into her chilled car.

When she turned the key into the ignition, and the car roared awake, groaning in the cold, her heartbeat quickened. She was nervous...yet she didn't look back, she just drove to see that one face she needed.

Actually, Éponine didn't realize how easy this was...in fact, it was too easy. But she decided not to dwell on it, focusing on her sole objective.

In the early morning light, Éponine found a parking spot only two blocks away. She dragged her unkempt self down the blocks until she got to the familiar inviting door that she had come to love. With a steady heartbeat pounding, she rang the doorbell and waited...and waited.

Suddenly, Éponine felt ill. It was Christmas after all, Enjolras must've been with his family, he must not be home. She felt like an idiot, surely escaping out of her house to come see her best friend when he obviously had better things to do than sit around and wait for her. But what? Did she actually expect he would do that?

She laughed bitterly at herself for even thinking he would. And sure enough, as the pungent laugh fell over her lips, the tears began to fall as well. She stood there like an idiot, stuck on Enjolras' doorstep in the frigid cold with tears streaming down her exhausted expression once again. Could she be any more pathetic?

Then, as if by some miracle, the door handle turned, and the door opened a small crack, letting a drop of warm air hit her tear-soaked face. The blonde haired man stared back at her, eyes wide in astonishment. "Éponine?" he asked hesitantly, afraid any other word might startle her away. And there it was - just her name on his lips. That was all she needed to hear, all she needed to find contentment. "Éponine, God..." he trailed off, taking her in completely.

She took a tentative step toward him, wrapping her arms around herself and grasping the material of her coat in fists. Her voice was a stifled whisper as she looked up to him with pleading and desperate eyes, conveying everything in a look that her words couldn't:

"Help me..."

* * *

**A/N: And for those who got through it…wow. Thank you. **

**I promise, this was the worst. Things are going to get better. I appreciate you all so much if you still want to stick with this story even after this chapter. I am so sorry for the angst. I am terribly sorry. I can write happy things if I tried...**

**On second thought, anyone want to write me a happy Enjonine fluff piece? I could really use one after this chapter. I think we all could actually. Well, I'd be really grateful if one of you did for me!**


	21. Of Learning the Signs

**A/N: So sorry for the delay as always. But here is a comfort chapter. I just know you will all love this. And isn't it funny how this chapter takes place on Christmas day? and that's today? Go figure.**

**And check out my little spin off for this story, if you would like called, _Coerced_. It's Enjonine!**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies and Husbands

Chapter 21 - Of Learning the Signs

...

With no other words, Enjolras wrapped his warm and strong arms around Éponine and pulled her into a hug. Though she didn't hug him back, she closed her eyes, relishing in his warmth, finding a bit of comfort, and letting the tears freely fall once again. It seemed it would be an impossible task to keep her cheeks dry, but right now, she didn't seem to mind.

Calmly, Enjolras ushered her inside, all the while rubbing her back tenderly and closing out the winter air behind them. In a moment, Éponine was situated on the couch and Enjolras was draping a large blanket around her.

Through her blurry vision, she noticed how Enjolras' apartment was sparse of decorations. It was Christmas Day after all, and he didn't even have a tree. Perhaps he didn't celebrate. Éponine thought about inquiring further on the matter, but her mind was too weighed down with her own problems to ask. Right now, there were more important things to think about than the amount of tinsel he has on his walls.

He sat beside her, never taking his sleepy eyes off of her. But, gradually, as the minutes rolled on, he was waking up more and more. He almost wished he put clothes on to answer the door, but Éponine didn't seem to mind his pajamas - but he also bet she hadn't noticed.

"Éponine, tell me what to do. I'll help you." His voice was no more than a whisper, afraid that any loud voice would startle the frightened young creature.

She shivered, clutching the blanket tightly around her. "I don't _know_ what to do. I just wanted to see you...I just wanted to hear your voice..."

Her words sounded so much like a declaration of love, but Enjolras knew better; he knew the words were far from that. He scooted closer to her and her body stilled so Enjolras did the same. Perhaps a shift toward her was too much? He slowly retracted his body and leaned away from her. "Can you tell me what happened? Éponine, I haven't seen you in so long."

She sucked in a breath. "I know...I tried not to stay away. But he follows me...he watches everything I do - "

"Then how did you get away now?"

"He was sleeping," she breathed, saying the words as if they were a secret.

Enjolras took in a large breath, calming his nerves. "I won't let you go back there. He doesn't know you're here. You'll be safe with me. I'm gonna call the police. We won't let - "

"No, please - "

"But Éponine, you want help, remember? You just asked. This is how I can help, this is what we can do."

"But no. We can't get the police involved. It's not that bad. I-I just...I need a doctor. Yes. Please, I just need to make sure I'm okay."

"Éponine. _What_ happened?" His words came out stern this time and the unintended coldness caused a few more tears to fall from her eyes. Instantly, he regretted the way he said it, wishing he could take the words back. She didn't answer him. "How can you say it's not that bad? Of course it's bad. Please...just tell me."

Again, she didn't speak. Instead, she stared down at her hands, fingers instinctively swirling her wedding band.

"What happened?" he whispered.

Suddenly, a bitter chuckle fell out. The sound was enough to scare Enjolras for a moment, not expecting a noise like that. "Where do you want me to start?"

His stomach lurched. "The morning you left me. When I stupidly let you stay the night. What happened when you got home?"

"I went to work." She said it simply, as if it were obvious. "I couldn't go home. I knew he'd be mad. So, I went right to work. But the day had to end, and I had to go home. 'Parnasse was waiting for me." Then, she stopped speaking, eyes widening and words failing. Should she really be telling Enjolras about her punishment? He was going to judge her. He was going to judge their life. He was going to assume Montparnasse was wrong. He was going to say awful things.

"Éponine?"

She shook her head. "I can't say."

Suddenly, in a motion that surprised even himself, Enjolras grabbed her fidgeting hand and forced her to look at him. "You can tell me."

She whipped her hand from his grasp, anger setting in her features. "No! I can't!" The tears cascaded down her again, her mouth smiling as she folded in on herself. She hunched over, breath at her knees.

His hands hovered above her before finally, he peeled her shoulders back and pulled her into him. She didn't pull away this time, but she continued crying into him. This time, he didn't press the matter further. If she wasn't pulling away, this was at least a step forward. "I'll call Combeferre," he finally said. "I'll get him to come over and look at you, okay?"

She shook her head, breathing in a sob in order to speak. "I can't let you. It's Christmas. Doesn't he have something better to be doing? He doesn't have time to worry about me."

"Éponine, he'll come, it's not a problem. I'll get him to come look at you."

Again, she shook her head. "I'll have to be heading home soon. I can't stay here long."

"Please, Éponine. You just asked for a doctor, I can get Ferre here. I want to make sure you're okay. I want to help you. Please, just let me help."

She shrugged her shoulders, leaning away from him and righting herself up. "I don't know what to do. I don't know how you can help. Montparnasse has just been..." Her voice trailed off and Enjolras was struggling to hear her. "...lately. It will get better, it always does..." She shook her head again. "...last night...but he'll apologize. I know he will...he didn't mean to - "

"Éponine," Enjolras cut her off. "Would you be willing to do me a favor? It's nothing big. I just want you to read something for me." She lifted her eyes to his and nodded unsurely. "Do you have a computer at home?"

"'Parnasse does. But I don't know the codes to it. I don't know the code to his iPad either."

"You don't have a home computer, a desktop?"

"No, he only has a laptop."

"Okay," he groused, rubbing his chin and standing to his feet. "Then give me a second."

Éponine watched him in bewilderment as he left the room and disappeared around the corner. In the next moment, Enjolras was back carrying his own laptop. He sat back down next to her and put the sliver Macbook on his lap. Flipping open the lid, he waited for the screen to light up and typed in his password. She watched on curiously as he opened up the internet and typed in directly:

"_signs of abusive relationship"_

Her brow furrowed and she opened her mouth to refute him. But instead, she watched as the the first blue link that appeared, he clicked on and scrolled down the page. He stopped on a box that read:

"_SIGNS THAT YOU'RE IN AN ABUSIVE RELATIONSHIP"_

He placed the laptop of her lap with a deep breath. "Just read."

"Enjolras, this doesn't have anything to do with - "

"Please, just read."

She sighed as her eyes scanned over the questions that directly asked her about herself, her thoughts and feelings - and her partner, his violent and controlling behavior. It seemed like the world fell still. She gasped, covering her own mouth with her hand as she read. The questions were simple:

_Do you:_  
_\- feel afraid of your partner?_  
_\- feel that you can't do anything right?_  
_\- feel worried about angering your partner?_  
_\- wonder if you're the one who is crazy?_

Éponine's finger trembled as she pointed to the last question. She felt the hot tears coming down her face again. "I am crazy," she whispered to the computer screen.

Enjolras placed a hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch. He wasn't trying to scare her, just reassure her. But he removed his hand and moved his head closer to her to whisper back, "You're not crazy, Éponine. I promise you that."

"But I am!" she shrieked, whipping her eyes to face him. "I am crazy. He says he didn't hit me, but I felt it! I thought I felt it, but he says he didn't do it. 'Parnasse even said he didn't see anything. He even said he never hit me. I know that...I know I'm crazy...these things just keep happening."

"Éponine, Éponine," he said, trying to calm her down and stop her rambling. "Please, you aren't. This is one of the signs. This happens to women. Abusers do this - "

"He's not an abuser!"

Enjolras took in a large breath, forcing himself not to yell back at her. "Please," he responded calmly. "Just read the next part."

She stared at him skeptical, worried and anxious. She didn't want to, but seeing his dead, serious stare, she slowly brought her eyes back to the computer screen.

_Does your partner:_  
_\- criticize and yell at you?_  
_\- ignore or put down your accomplishments?_  
_\- blame you for their outbursts?_  
_\- destroy your belongings?_  
_\- hurt you, or threaten to hurt or kill you?_  
_\- threaten to harm your children or take them away?_  
_\- force you to have sex?_  
_\- act excessively jealous and possessive?_  
_\- see you as property, a possession, rather than a person?_  
_\- control where you go or what you do?_  
_\- limit your access to money?_  
_\- constantly check up on you?_

This time, it was not only tears that fell upon her cheeks, now it was full blown sobbing. She could barely even see the words of the computer screen anymore. But it was a good thing, the words hurt too much to even look at.

"I'm sorry," Enjolras breathed. "I'm just trying to make you understand...I - " He paused watching Éponine's finger lift to the computer screen again. She tried to cover her sob with her hand, but it was in vain. She touched one particular sentence with another sob. Her finger hovered the sentence: _force you to have sex?_

She nodded, keeping her hand over her mouth.

Enjolras felt his heart crack. The weight of her motions colliding over his world, forcing him to really see the depravity of the situation. "Éponine," he began tentatively and gently, "did he force you?"

Slowly and trembling, she lowered her hand to speak. "Yes. Last night."

"Éponine, I swear, you have to understand, this isn't okay. This is _not_ okay. This is a real issue. There are so many women, just like you who go through this. You aren't alone. I'm going to help you. I'm going to make sure he never touches you again."

"But...he loves me," her voice cracked over the words.

He fell silent. How could he refute that? And more importantly, how could he refute that without angering her? He decided to continue as if he never heard those words. "We're going to make a plan. Okay? We're going to get you out of there. Look."

He took the computer from her lap and put it on his own. He scrolled down the page as her eyes followed. He stopped on a link saying: _Taking the steps to leave _and clicked it. Quickly, he skimmed the page, having read it all before, and turned his eyes to Éponine.

"We're going to make an escape plan for you. The first thing to do will be to pack a bag. Grab everything you want and keep it hidden. You're gonna rehearse your escape plan so when it really goes into action, you'll know what to do. Next, you'll memorize my number. Once you leave, find a pay phone and call me - " He paused, seeing the reaction on her face. Her eyes were wide, turning redder with each passing moment. "What?"

Her eyes were fully glazed over, her mouth trembling with the hint of another sob. "I can't just leave him, Enjolras. I love him."

"But he hurts you, Éponine. Constantly. This isn't a one time thing, from what I gather. And if you stay, you may just end up getting yourself killed."

"This is too much," she muttered, looking away again, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. "He needs me. If I'm not there, he is only going to get angrier. I have to stay with him. Remember? As long as he needs me. As. Long. As. He. _Needs_. Me. And I know he needs me."

"How many times can I say this? You're not safe with him. He is going to keep hurting you."

"Stop saying things like that!"

"Éponine, it's true and you know it's true." He didn't want to get mad. He couldn't get mad at her, but he couldn't help it; she refused to understand. He exhaled longingly. "I saw Azelma the other day and she - "

"You saw Azelma?" She stared at him, perplexed. "How do you know Azelma?"

"She came into the bar." He rubbed behind his neck with his hand. "I didn't know it was her. But we started talking and when I found out her name, it made sense. She's been worried for weeks about you. Apparently, Montparnasse called her asking to speak to you...?"

She took a deep breath. "I know, that's how he found out I wasn't at Azelma's house the night we had dinner here. He found out I've been lying to him. But...I didn't tell him about you. If he found out about you..." She gulped. "..._you_ wouldn't be safe."

He stilled, letting her words sink in fully. But choosing not to comment further, he said, "Azelma can help too. We can set something up with her. Maybe you can stay with her for awhile."

Éponine only shrugged.

"But I really think we should call the police - " Her eyes widened. "When your ready," he finished. "But they should know, they could really help you."

"Okay," she whispered. "But not right now."

Éponine stood up from the couch, dropping the blanket where she was just sitting. Enjolras scrambled to his feet. "Wait, where are you going?"

"This is too much to think about. I should be going home. I feel...better...after talking to you. That was all I wanted."

"But Éponine, we haven't even planned anything yet. We need to have a plan if you're going to go home. I have to be able to contact you. We should call your sister. I can have Combeferre come over to look at you - "

"Please, it's alright. You've given me enough to think about right now." She took a step away from the couch.

He was beginning to panic. "Please, wait. D-do you have your own money? Y-your...your work checks? You get those right?"

She paused, turning to face him and looked to the ground. "My checks are direct deposit into my checking account. But I'm not allowed to know the pass codes for the account. Montparnasse usually gives me an allowance though. But recently, he's been forgetting...and I don't like to bring it up."

Enjolras inwardly groaned, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. But he shouldn't be surprised, he knew financial abuse was just as common as physical abuse. "Okay...well, whatever money you can get, start saving it. Steal some of his if you have to, but only if it's safe. _Only_ if he realizes it won't be missing. Don't put yourself at unnecessary risk. And when he gets angry, find safe areas. You know, stay away from the kitchen, the bathroom...do what you can to protect yourself." Enjolras racked his brain, thinking of more tips and knowing he didn't have long to keep talking. "Do you know your neighbors?"

"No, we live pretty secluded."

"Okay...but before you go, can you write me down your address, just in case you need me, okay? Just in case something happens, you can call, and I'll come. I promise." He scrabbled to the kitchen, pulling a pad from a drawer and searching about for a pen. When he finally located one, he tossed them both on the counter.

Gracefully, she wrote her address on the little white pad of paper.

"And Éponine, what's your last name?" He felt like an imbecile asking that, thinking he should already know it, but it was imperative.

"Moreaux."

He smiled kindly, even though she didn't return it. "Great," he breathed. "I'm going to contact your sister and just let her know I saw you, okay? I'll see about getting you a prepaid phone or something. And I'm going to call one of these hotlines and a divorce lawyer - "

"Divorce!?" Her eyes bulged. "Enjolras, no one said anything about divorce!"

He held his hands up in defense. "Alright...alright. But it's an option, Éponine. A good one to keep on the table."

She turned around again, heading for the door.

"Can I walk you to your car?"

She shook her head. "I can go alone. It'll be fine, it's not far."

"I really don't mind," he insisted. "Please let me."

She sighed deeply and nodded. Quickly, she heard the shuffle of Enjolras scramble for his coat and get it on. He grabbed his keys from the hook and closed the door behind them.

"Éponine." He paused, waiting to see if she would respond, waiting to see if she'd look at him. But her eyes only stared at the ground as they walked. "When can I see you again? I need to see you soon."

"I'll come by the bar," she said quietly.

"We'll get coffee."

She closed her eyes in a silent protest, but opened them and nodded. She never lifted her head up. "I'll come to the bar when I can, and then we can get coffee."

"Okay, that's reasonable."

They walked quietly together, Éponine leading the way, lost in her own thoughts.

But the more she walked, the more she felt like she would kiel over at any moment. She stared at the ground as she walked mindlessly. Her mind was on overload thinking of everything she just learned, replaying everything Enjolras has just said to her. Was this really what her marriage had come to? Abuse? Sure she had known of his violent tendencies, she knew of the beatings, she understood how frequent it happened sometimes, but an _abusive relationship_?

Yet, the website knew exactly what was happening in her marriage? How could it possibly have known? Enjolras said it happened to other women too, he said she wasn't alone. Was that true? Did other women receive punishments by their husbands? Were other women..._abused_?

All of a sudden, she lifted her eyes to see her car while fishing for her keys in her pocket. Perched up coolly against her passenger door, arms folded across his chest and smug smile on his lips, was Montparnasse.

She froze.

The world fell still and she stood there immobilized by fear, trying to adjust to the figure of him standing before her.

"Éponine, Éponine, Éponine," he taunted, pushing himself upright and sauntering over to her. His eyes darted quickly to Enjolras beside her. "My, my, what have we here?"

Enjolras' eyes hardened and he couldn't help it. The second Montparnasse latched onto Éponine's upper arm, he let his fist fly forward, straight into her husband's cheek. "Don't you fucking touch her!"

* * *

**A/N: Well…where did that come from? That wasn't in the outline.**

**I completely completely apologize for the curse at the end. I don't curse at all. And I hate this word. But I wrote this sentence a million ways and none had as much as an impact as this. So…I kept it. But..it's not me cursing, it's Enjolras. At least, I'm trying to tell myself that. And I have a precarious feeling that I'm gonna have to have these characters curse more now that things are coming to a head. I apologize in advance.**


	22. Of Blows, Bats, and Becoming Aware

**A/N: I honestly hope this chapter doesn't feel like a cop out. I'm sorry for the shortness of it and I'm sorry not much really happens (according to me anyway). But I wanted a chapter up by New Years and I accomplished that…in my time zone anyway! We can thank Just a Guest for that one, I did this for you, and so this chapter goes out to you!**

**Thank you all for your continued support! Let's make this year one for ****the history books (*cough cough* to you Mary).**

**Warnings: as always a bit of violence.**

_**UPDATE: I was able to remove the second posting of this chapter, so hopefully this situation with the fanfiction site is resolved and you all can see this chapter now. Thank you all for everything! Let's hope it works.**_

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 22 - Of Blows, Bats, and Becoming Aware

...

Éponine gasped, hands flying to her mouth in a look of shock. "Enjolras!" she scolded, immediately going to her husband's aid. "Oh, god..." Her hands held on to Montparnasse's shoulders as he doubled over, gripping his nose. "Please Enjolras..." she whispered, turning her pleading eyes up to him.

Enjolras took a step back, watching the scene unfold before him. How could Éponine honestly be helping him right now? She had on the biggest expression of concern as she whispered kind things in Montparnasse's ear, asking him to remove his hand so she could see his nose. Her hand worked quickly at rubbing his back, trying desperately to alleviate his own rage.

Suddenly, Montparnasse shot his menacing eyes up to Enjolras. "Who the hell do you think you are?" When Enjolras didn't answer, but lowered his eyes in a hooded stare, Montparnasse whipped himself upright and stalked closer to Enjolras, fist coiled to strike. He grabbed the material of Enjolras' coat and lifted him onto his toes.

Éponine shrieked, grasping any handful of Montparnasse's jacket that she could, trying to pull him back. "Please, 'Parnasse! Please!" she cried. "You don't need to start a fist fight. Enjolras didn't mean - "

His dark stare turned to Éponine and he lowered his fist. "You _know_ this guy?" he asked, swatting her hands away from him.

"Um..." she started, eyes frantic, searching for a lie. "I just met him. I-I came here to come sit in the park. I like this park...and he saw me crying."

Montparnasse stared down at her, muling this new found information over in his mind, and then slowly brought his eyes up to Enjolras. "That true?" he asked the other man.

Enjolras nodded. "She was about to go home, I was just walking her back to her car."

He stayed silent for a moment, contemplating. "So, no doubt, you asked why she was crying. What did she tell you?"

"I said we got into an argument," Éponine quickly interrupted.

"I didn't ask you," Montparnasse snapped, wiping the blood from his nose onto the sleeve of his jacket. "I'm asking him."

"That's the truth," Enjolras answered right away. "She said you guys got into an argument last night. She said she was scared...I just assumed."

"So that's why you hit me?" the raven haired husband spit. "You just..._assumed_?" He scoffed bitterly. "You know what they say about assuming..."

Enjolras darted his eyes to Éponine quickly; his eyes hinting with a bit of embarrassment. "I do," he jumped in before Montparnasse could finish that sentence.

"Well. Next time learn the whole story before you go punching people. And learn to stay out of other's people's business. She doesn't need to explain herself to you. If she wants to cry on a damn park bench, leave her the hell alone." Montparnasse threaded his arm through Éponine's, tugging her close to him.

"He didn't mean any harm, 'Parnasse," she bit out.

"Try telling that to my bloody nose. I should give him one back. An eye for an eye, right?"

"It was an accident," Éponine said abruptly.

"There are no accidents, 'Ponine, you know that - " Her husband continued staring at Enjolras while he spoke as if trying to figure him out.

"Only stupidity," she murmured. "But he didn't know, he was just trying to do the right thing, just trying to protect me, right Enjolras?"

Their whole conversation made Enjolras want to vomit his dinner from last night. The same words from his earlier conversations with her were garbled up again, this time giving them new meaning. Yes, it wasn't an accident, yes, it was stupid for Enjolras to hit him. But did he regret it? No. Montparnasse deserved a whole lot more than just a punch. Finally, Enjolras forced himself to speak, words coming our terse between his clenched jaw: "Yes." He wanted to say more, but he couldn't force himself to get the words out. Montparnasse was making him feel like an errant child, explaining his actions, and so he wouldn't give him the satisfaction of explication.

"She doesn't need any protection from you, so next time, just stay out of it. You're sure one lucky bastard that I don't smash your nose in right now for doing that to mine. But I wouldn't want Éponine to see me like that." She shifted around uncomfortably in his grasp. Montparnasse dropped his eyes to her wary expression and looked back to Enjolras. "You sure she only mentioned an argument?"

Enjolras gave a grim nod. "Why? Was there more?"

Montparnasse's lip rose in disgust. "No," he spit. "Just wanted to know everything she told you. Éponine's got a habit of lying." Mechanically, his head turned down to look at her. She only shrunk back in fear. "Can't trust a damned thing she says sometimes."

Enjolras wanted to pummel him, he wanted to see his fist slam into Montparnasse's skull over and over, he wanted to see the blood dripping down his face, he wanted him to admit to the hell that he puts Éponine through. But no, Enjolras just stood there stoically, watching as Montparnasse kept Éponine tucked into his side, keeping her firmly stapled to him as if he owned her, as he lifted a finger and brushed it down the contour of her face.

All of a sudden, Montparnasse's eyes lit up and he smiled wickedly. "I know you," he purred just as Éponine and Enjolras simultaneously gulped. "You work at the Musain, right?" He chuckled to himself. "You were that nosy bartender butting your nose into places it doesn't belong. So listen, why don't you do us a favor and stay away from us. Or you can guarantee that next time you won't be so lucky."

"'Parnasse," Éponine hissed. "He was only trying to help - "

"Well he can find another couple to help. We don't need any help." He gave Éponine a shove, forcing her to turn around. "Get in the car, we're going home." He looked back at Enjolras at the pair took a few steps to his double parked car in the street. "Count your blessings, pretty boy." Montparnasse opened up the passenger side to his black car, and waited for Éponine to get in.

She hesitated, looking back at her car. "Shouldn't I drive my car home?"

Her husband latched onto her upper arm, bringing his lips close to her ear. "Get in the damn car," he whispered sharply.

"But what about my car - "

Knowing Enjolras' eyes were still on them, Montparnasse growled lowly to her. "I said, get in the goddamn car." His sentence came accompanied with a shove, forcing her into the car. When she settled into the seat timidly, Montparnasse leaned in closer to her and tapped the side of his cheek with an index finger. Complying with his wishes, Éponine brought her face to his cheek and planted a soft kiss. As she pulled back, he turned his head jarringly and kissed her on the lips. He pulled away and shut her door. Montparnasse met Enjolras' harsh gaze and lifted the corner of his mouth, smirking to him as he took a walk around the car. "Nice pajamas," he quipped snidely before he took his place in the driver's seat.

The car pulled away, leaving Enjolras windswept on the sidewalk. He looked down and finally noticed he had only left the house in his coat and pajama pants.

...

The car ride was silent for the most part. Montparnasse didn't even turn on the radio and so the only noise was the sound of the road underneath the tires.

"What about my car?" she dared to ask in the silence.

"I'll get Babet or Brujon to come pick it up," he tersely replied. "Like hell I'd let you drive home alone."

She waited a beat. "How did you find me? You didn't know I come to this park?"

His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "I told you I'd always find you. Anything you do, I will always find out, so don't even bother running next time. It'll save me a trip."

"I was gonna come home." Her voice was meek, trying to keep a civil conversation with him. "You didn't have to come - "

"Goddammit!" Montparnasse yelled, slamming his palm on the steering wheel causing her to flinch. "How dare you! How dare you!"

Éponine shrunk back in her seat, staring down at her lap rather than the road.

Then, the words hit her like a brick, taunting her, torturing her:

_Do you: feel afraid of your partner?_

How could she refute that? She couldn't hide this fear that coursed through her right now. She couldn't deny it.

"Why in God's name would you ever think to leave like that!? For God's sake, Éponine, you're so stupid. Every single time I think, 'Oh, maybe she'll finally use her blasted brain? Maybe she'll be smart for a change?' Every. Single. Time you have to go and screw everything up. You can't do anything right. And now you've got some nosy bartender thinking there is something wrong with our marriage? Maybe that's it. Maybe you like the attention? You like the attention, 'Ponine? You like random guys comforting you when they see you crying? You like being a little attention whore?"

She chewed her lip, wondering if the question was rhetorical and if she should answer.

"Well?" he bit out.

"Um...no." She choked over the words and cleared her throat. "No, I don't."

_Does your partner: criticize and yell at you? _

_Yes, _she answered without a second thought.

"Then maybe you think something is wrong with our marriage? Is that it? You think there is something wrong with us? Something so wrong you have to leave me at six in the morning just to go cry on a park bench about it?"

"No," she said quietly.

"Well you must think so, otherwise you wouldn't have left like that. This is all your fault! This is all your fault for making him think there is something wrong with us." He grumbled into the steering wheel, muttering, "Something so wrong you've got to cry on some damn park bench. Ha!" He startled her with his barking laugh. "And you really think I believe your little story about the park? You must think I'm stupid. I'll find out what you were really up to. You can count on that." His right hand fisted together, glancing over at her, with fury etched in his eyes. "Oh...if I could just..." His sentence trailed off as he sprung his fist backwards and the back of his forearm collided with her head.

The seat cushion behind her head took most of the impact and she didn't cry out.

When she made no sound, he slammed his arm again into her head. Her head absorbed the pain of the impact yet, she didn't make another sound, not even a whimper. "There is something wrong with you," he concluded.

Now seeing the end of their driveway as they pulled onto a narrow road, Éponine shut her eyes and just waited. When she felt the car come to a stop, she was quick to jump out of the car and race to the front door, only to remember that she didn't have a key to the house. Montparnasse sauntered up behind her, and shoved her out of the way of the door. He pushed her back with such force she tripped over her feet and fell down the small flight of stairs. She landed in a heap on the stone walkway, flat on her back.

_Does your partner: hurt you, or threaten to hurt or kill you?_

_Yes._

He didn't even spare her a glance as he led the way into the house. She waited on he ground for a few minutes, just letting the air hit her, just collecting her thoughts. Suddenly, Montparnasse appeared in the door way. "What are you still doing out here! Get inside!" he hollered.

She had nothing else to do but comply. Brushing herself off, ignoring the pain ripping through her back, she followed him.

_Does your partner: control where you go or what you do?_

_Yes. _

Inside the house, the hostile environment lowered for a moment. Éponine took in the sight of the smashed furnishings all around the living room and even the spoiled food still splattered on the kitchen floor. She closed her eyes, forcing back tears, and bent to the floor to pick up a fallen lamp.

_Does your partner: destroy your belongings? _

_Yes._

Montparnasse parked himself in front of the television and searched about the couch. "Where is the goddamn remote?"

Carefully, Éponine picked up the broken remote from the side of the wall and collected the strewn batteries. She walked over to him hesitantly and placed it all beside him. "You broke it," she whispered.

Immediately, Montparnasse rose to his feet. "You mean you! You broke it! You are the one who makes me mad! You are the reason I get angry. It's your fault!" His fist coiled again and he pulled it back.

_Does your partner: blame you for their outbursts?_

_Yes._

Éponine was quick this time, she ducked her head just as his fist met the air.

Montparnasse sucked in a breath. "Oh my dear, your gonna wish you never did that." But instead of aiming for her again, he moved out from behind the couch and walked to the foyer. Éponine stayed still, curious and fearful of his movements. She watched on as he opened the hall closet and rummaged around for something. He finally landed his hands on a long cardboard box. Slipping his hand inside of it, he pulled out a sleek wooden baseball bat. Éponine gulped. He turned back toward her, delicately patting the bat in his hands. "Come here," he beckoned.

Instinctively, Éponine took a step backwards. _Don't go to the kitchen, don't go to the bathroom, _she reminded herself, looking around frantic for someplace to escape to. "Please!" she begged, deciding that mercy might be another escape route.

Montparnasse lunged for her. Éponine didn't have a chance to move fast enough as he swung the bat backwards and flung it into her stomach.

Éponine doubled over herself, breath gone from her lungs as she landed on the floor. She gulped desperately, heaving as she tried to bring in precious oxygen.

Her husband stood above, watching her choke on her own breath. He curled his lip in disgust. "First you leave me while I'm sleeping..." He drawled the edge of the baseball bat along her back, tracing lines up and down her spine. "Then you run into the arms of a complete stranger, thinking what? He'd rescue you? He'd dry your tears? Then you let him think something is wrong in our marriage so that he hits me! And now you avoid your punishment from me? What the hell is wrong with you? Why can't you just behave? Why. Can't. You. Just - " He lifted the bat high above, positioning it to strike her. The shadow cast over her back as the tears silently plummeted from her eyes.

"I'm sorry!" she screamed out. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm sorry." Like a broken record, she repeated herself, crying to the floor as she folded in on herself. "Please just stop. I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry..." She wrapped her arms over her head, pushing her forehead to the ground, body racking with sobs. "I'm sorry...I'm sorry..."

Montparnasse stood stoic. His face uncurled but his eyes remained hard. Slowly, he lowered the baseball bat until it clattered to the ground. "You ever leave me like that again, and next time, I won't stop." He gave her one last pitiful stare before he turned on his heel and walked away. He paused. "And clean up the goddamn house, will you?"

She heard the bedroom door slam and Éponine could only cry fresh tears into the floorboards. So this was it. This was the answer.

_Are you in a domestic abuse relationship?_

_Yes._

...

Once Montparnasse's black car had driven out of sight, Enjolras stalked back to his apartment, eyes fuming, heartbeat racing, and hand searing. How was he supposed to continue on with his day after that? What was he supposed to do now?

Thanks to his good thinking, he'd be lucky if the next time he saw Éponine, her face was still in tact. In fact, he'd be lucky if she was still alive. He shook the thought from his head as he shook off his coat and threw it on the dining table. He didn't want to think about Éponine like that right now. But what else then? What should he do?

Falling onto the kitchen counter and burying his face in his hands, an idea struck. Enjolras scrambled for his phone and dialed Azelma.

She picked up on the second ring. "Hey, didn't think you'd be making use of my number so fast. And you remember I'm dating Courf, right?" Her voice came through amused, but Enjolras was far from that.

"That's not what I'm calling about," he barked back into his phone.

"Whoa, what's wrong with you? I'm just messing with you. I needed a good laugh to wake me up. So? Why are you calling me bright and early on Christmas Day?"

"I saw Éponine." He was blunt and straight to the point. This was no time for games.

"Seriously? God, where did you see her? Can I get there now?"

"No, no. She came to my apartment - "

"Alone?"

"Yeah, but Montparnasse found her. I walked her back to her car and he was standing there."

"Crap, how did he know?"

Enjolras paused, shaking his head. This was one thing he hadn't actually thought of. "I don't know."

"Well what happened? Is she okay? Are you okay? Enjolras, what happened?"

He debated whether to mention the punch or not and decided against it. "Yeah, we were all okay, but we lied...said we had just met and after some less than pleasant exchange, he took her home. But he left her car here."

"Check the car."

"What?"

"Yeah, just check it. See if she left it unlock. Maybe her address is on the registration in the glove compartment. Or maybe they'll be some clue about where we can find her. Enjolras, we _have_ to find her."

"I know...I discussed with her some options though. I made her see how bad her marriage is."

"No! What did you do?" she berated exasperatedly.

"What? Nothing. I just showed her the signs of being in an abusive relationship. I just showed her a website. She had to understand."

Azelma groaned on the other end of the phone, growing impatient. "…and how did she take _that_?" she remarked, surprisingly calm for her agitation.

"Not…well, but she listened. At least, she was thinking about it. We made arrangements to plan some more, just giving her options."

"Enjolras!" Azelma snapped. "What are you trying to do? Mess with their whole relationship? Look, I don't know who you think you are - "

"Whoa, Azelma. What are you saying? What are you talking about? I'm trying to help Éponine. I'm trying to get her out of this situation. I thought that's what you wanted as well."

"No! No, just listen, I know Montparnasse can be cruel, I know his punishments are severe. Did you forget? That's why I got mad when she married him. But now, after hearing him call me, just hearing the anger in his voice. I know she got beat bad for whatever she did when he caught her - "

"She was unconscious," Enjolras interrupted.

"What?"

"Yes. Montparnasse and his friends came to the Musain that night. They didn't know - and they still don't know - that I know Éponine. So, they started talking about what happened. Montparnasse casually mentioned that he beat her until she was unconscious. I don't know how but that's all I know."

Azelma gasped, pausing to take in a few more breaths. "I didn't know that...I-I just want to see my sister," she whispered. "I just want to see her…and make sure she's okay."

Enjolras paused this time, thinking over everything she was saying. "Azelma?" he hesitantly began. "You know it's abuse, right? You know that what Montparnasse does to Éponine, you know that it's wrong, right?"

She was quiet. "I know that Courf doesn't punish me when I do something wrong. He says he never will. A-and I trust him. I've always avoided relationships and marriage because of that, you know. I was scared of getting punished again."

He sighed longingly, running a hand through his hair. "No man is ever supposed to punish a woman. Azelma this is abuse. Éponine _is_ in an abusive relationship. She needs help and we need to get her out of this." He spoke slowly and clearly so that Azelma would understand fully; plain and simple. "What Montparnasse does to her _is_ wrong."

She was quiet for a long time and Enjolras had to check his phone to make sure she was still on the line. Finally, she spoke, "So how do we help her?"

He smiled to himself. "First, we need to convince her."

* * *

**A/N: Well, on a side note, I've never teared while writing before, but this one I did. I don't even know why…It was the part where Montparnasse is tracing the bat along her spine. That just really hit me. That one just…and I just…I couldn't let him hit her again, otherwise _I_ was going to lose it.**

**Thanks again! Love you all so much. **


	23. Of Family and Friends

**A/N: Hey everyone. Thanks again for everything. You know…I had some experience recently in another fandom for a bit (under another name) and I would just like to say that to me, you guys aren't just ****reviewers…you guys are friends. I'm serious. You guys are the best. The most amazing and best friends. And I really just appreciate you all a whole lot more now. Thank you all so much. **

**Really just talking to me and being NICE in reviews…that means the world to me. Really. and even all the people who read this story and don't review, thank you all. Because that means a lot to me too. Like maybe you don't really like this story, but you've never said anything bad and that just makes me smile. Okay, sorry for the mini rant…I just needed to say that. I needed to tell you all thank you.**

**So now the story…this chapter contains no violence. You heard me. None. I didn't think that was possible…wow! But yup. NONE! So, enjoy it! (Don't know how plot moving this chapter is, but it explains and reveals a lot!)**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 23 - Of Family and Friends

...

"No, the first thing, Enjolras," Azelma replied into the phone, "is to call Gavroche."

"Gavroche? Umm...your brother?"

"Yeah, exactly. I think it's time someone informed him what was going on. He would be the best one to convince her. God, I'm sure he hasn't heard from Éponine in years."

"Really? They don't speak?" His voice was surprised, but he realized shortly that anything he found out about Éponine was usually surprising.

"No one's really heard from him," Azelma said. "I haven't even spoken to him in a long time."

"Well...if it's rude to ask, don't answer. But what exactly happened with him? All I know is that he's living up north."

"Yup, New Hampshire."

"Oh, really? A friend of mine moved up there a couple years ago. Small world, but anyway, yeah. Éponine never mentioned Gavroche much to me."

She scoffed. "Really? God, 'Ponine practically raised him. She really never mentioned him?"

"Well, not much." He paused. "So, what happened?"

"Well...want the full story or the abridged version."

"Whichever you want to give me."

He could hear her sigh longingly. "You're too good, you know that?" He was quiet and so she continued. "Someone called the cops one night on my parents. It was in the middle of this really bad punishing session. My dad was so drunk, my mom...she just didn't care." Her voice became so low, contemplative as the memories washed over her once again. "'Ponine was always the one who protected us. Especially Gavroche because he was so little. So, she was taking the brunt of the punishing. He was just merciless that night. We all came home late because 'Ponine bought us ice cream with this money she..._found_...and it was our secret, you know, we couldn't tell them that we stopped for anything as extravagant as ice cream."

"You weren't allowed?" he interrupted.

"Not really, it's just...there were more important things to buy...like food...or liquor..." she mumbled. "But anyway, when we got home late, my dad just flew off the handle. He lashed out so bad, first it was his fists, then it was the belt, and then it was a wrench."

Enjolras felt his stomach drop. "Éponine mentioned a wrench once, she said he only used it once though."

"Yeah, this was the only time. But he just held her down and...a-and...she was screaming, you know. It hurt. I mean, I bet it hurt." Azelma cleared her throat over the words. "I know it hurt. It's a freaking wrench. And we were all crying and it was just a mess...a freaking bloody mess."

"But you said the cops came?"

"Yeah. Actually...our neighbor called the cops. I found out later. But...uhh..." she chuckled bitterly. "Montparnasse called them. Everyone in the building heard the screaming, everyone always heard the screaming and then...I don't know, I guess it was so bad that night that Montparnasse called them. He saved us, you know. And so, right in the middle of everything...these large cops burst open our apartment door and they call an ambulance, they arrest my parents, and the three of us get moved around. Éponine was already eighteen when this all happened, so she was legally free. She ended up moving in with Montparnasse shortly after all of this. I only had a year left and so, I got sent with Gavroche into the system. My parents got four years. Can you believe that? A lousy four years. That's nothing. Then they got out early on good behavior. It's screwed up if you asked me. But whatever, I haven't heard from my dad or my mom. So, they can drink themselves to death for all I care."

"And what about this family that Gavroche moved in with? How are they?"

"The courts kept me and Gav together when a family picked him up. So, I stayed with them for the two years. It was a nice man who ran a foster home for children. The kids had all just grown up, he was getting old and his daughter had been taking care of him. I think she was Éponine's age. Well, she was getting married when Gav and I moved in. She was really nice, not a bad bone in her body. Then when I turned nineteen, I moved out onto my own, they helped a bunch though. Her and her husband, I mean, they're good people. A few months later though, the old man died. And his daughter and her husband took over responsibility for Gav. And you know, he just attached himself to them, and it worked out good for him. He was only ten when he moved in with all them and so, he just got along just fine. I, on the other hand, was more resentful." She paused again, letting the words fully hit him. "Éponine never met the family, you know. She never stopped by or anything. I don't think she's seen Gavroche in years. But the courts gave us an option to stay with Éponine, but her and Montparnasse...they couldn't really afford to take care of us. So, even though we didn't want to split up, it just worked out better that way."

"So...Gavroche is still with this couple?"

"Yup," she said very matter-of-fact. "He likes them a lot. They're paying for his college. Who wouldn't want to stay with them. Well, they've got a house up in New Hampshire and a little kid of their own too, I think. A little boy, maybe four now? I don't know. But Gav is eighteen now, gonna start his first year at Plymouth, or did he start already? Hmm...I'll have to ask him. And I think when I spoke to him last he was talking about a Criminal Justice major. Eh...I'll ask. So yeah, that's it."

Enjolras was speechless for another moment. "Criminal Justice?" he inquired, the smirk evident in his tone. He felt like an idiot, asking about the major after listening to Azelma's story of Éponine getting beaten with a wrench. But this was what he did, this is what he hated about himself: he couldn't deal with the heaviness.

Even with Melénie, he could never help her. But for Éponine, he was going to. He was going to help, even if it killed him.

"Yeah," she said, trying to laugh, but failing. "Fitting, right?"

"Very." The silence invaded, turning the conversation into awkwardness, a vast uneasiness settling in. "Well, I'll let you call him. Alright? Let me know what he says, and I'll call you with any new information. I'm gonna start doing some more research, contact some lawyers and just see about helping Éponine some more."

"Sounds like a plan, Enj. I'll talk with you soon."

"Great." He went to hang up the phone without waiting for a reply but Azelma's voice stopped him.

"Oh, wait Enjolras!"

"What?"

"Remember...check the car. See about getting an address for her."

"Oh, right. Got it. Bye Azelma."

"Bye, Enj."

...

"Pass it! Pass it! I'm open!"

"In your dreams, I got this one!"

"Shoot it!"

"Just pass it!"

"Left!"

"Pass the ball!"

His fingers bounced the ball up and down before he caught it quickly. His eyes stared straight ahead, locked on the basket above.

"Pass the damn ball!"

But he was determined. His held it above his head and in one, clean, swift move, he tipped the ball out of his hands and it went flying through the air, banking into the basket.

The crowd cheered wildly and he felt his heart soar in victory. He jogged over to the bench, sweat beading down his dirty blonde curls.

"Next time, pass the ball when I tell you. Christiansen was wide open."

"But, I got it in, Coach. I thought that's what counted," he said as he took a seat on the bench, wiping a towel over his face.

"What matters is playing as a team, Gavroche. Ignore me again, and I'll bench you." The couch turned to leave, face brimming in anger, red from yelling across the court, but he paused. "You're just lucky that was one damn good shot."

Gavroche felt the corners of his mouth lift up and he just chuckled to himself. Too soon, the final buzzer sounded and the players took to the court to shake hands.

"Great shot, 'Mercy. Can't believe you nailed that in," a spunky hazel-haired kid called out to Gavroche.

Gavroche just shrugged. "Lucky shot, I guess. But I knew I had it."

Another kid came up behind him, clapping him behind the back. "Then I guess you shouldn't call it luck."

"Haha, yeah, then that's skill," the first hazel-haired boy finished.

"Gav! Gav! Honey! That was excellent!" an excited golden blonde said, running up to him and grabbing him a hug.

"Get off," Gavroche berated, weaseling his way out of her grasp. "You can't just hug me in the middle of the court. You just can't."

"Relax, Gav. She's just excited, cut her some slack," her dark haired, freckled husband intervened.

Gavroche just sighed and waved to his friends who were already running off for the locker room.

The spunky blonde wrapped her arms around him again before he had time to even notice the surprise attack. "Ah! I just can't believe in a few short months, you're is going to leaving us. My precious boy, stay here forever! Please."

"Off!" Gavroche hollered again, but this time with a hint of a smile on his face. "It's only college, I won't be far anyway. You don't have to worry."

"Gav, I'm always going to worry about you."

"She's right," her husband interrupted, beginning to take a walk back to the stands as the family followed. "We're always gonna worry about you. It's just natural."

"I guess..." he sighed.

"Hey!" the golden blonde smiled. "Why don't we all go out for Christmas dinner tonight? You know, after such an awesome shot in such an awesome game and such an awesome victory, we all deserve to go to an awesome dinner."

"I think you need to stop saying awesome," he mumbled, gathering up his towel from the bench and swinging it over his shoulder.

"Gavroche!" she scolded.

"What?" he asked, stunned. "Look, just cause you guys _are_ only eight years older than me, still does not make it okay for you to act _my_ age. You're not teenagers. Okay?"

"I know," she continued with a long sigh. "We're not teens and we're not your parents. But sometimes I just forget. I don't really know what we are to you. But in my head, you'll always be my son."

Gavroche gave a crooked smile, looking right into her eyes. His heart sunk just a bit in guilt for being so rude, even if he was only kidding. "And you are the best mom I've ever had. But seriously, I don't need you guys embarrassing me. Luc's already got it bad for you..._mom_. He keeps saying he'd 'tap that' if he could."

"Oh my god..." she muttered, eyes going wide. Her husband just wrapped an arm around her, rubbing her back and trying to hide his smirk.

"You _are_ gorgeous, honey," he mumbled in her ear. "Just glad I got to you first..."

"God, god! Guys stop it! Look...dinner sounds fine. Okay? Why not?"

Immediately, she jumped slightly. "Oh, yay! I'll go call the sitter and tell her we're on our way for Grégoire. Still can't believe the school made you play a game on Christmas...but anyway, go take a shower, you stink Gav."

"Yeah, yeah," he said, rolling his eyes.

"Yo! Pontmercy! Get your ass over here!" the hazel-haired boy yelled out, running out from the crowd of teen boys headed into the locker room and over to Gavroche. He stopped right next to his friend.

"Dude, Luc, watch your mouth in front of my _parents_," Gavroche hissed, nudging him in the ribs with his elbow.

"Ow! Sorry," Luc grumbled, before slapping on a happy smile. "Hey Mr. Pontmercy. _And_ Mrs. Pontmercy."

"Luc, you can call me Marius, I've told you that."

"I know, but it just feels weird addressing parents like friends."

"Hey, why can't I call you Marius?" Gavroche bellowed, chuckling under his breath.

"Gavroche," Marius warned, with a stern look in his eye.

"Relax, dad, I'm just messing with you."

"Well, enough messing around. Go shower. Your mom and I will be waiting here when you're done."

With that, the two boys turned around and jogged back across court to the locker room. The stench filled their noses as they piled in with all the thirty other boys, but as they were used to the smell, neither noticed. As Gavroche opened his locker, pulling out his fresh clothes from his gym bag, he stopped, looking at his phone. There was a missed called from Azelma.

_Weird_.

He was about to put it away, but curiosity got the better of him. So, he pressed her name and waited for the ringing.

"God, Gav! What took you so long to call back!"

He laughed into the phone, plugging his other ear to better hear his sister. "Well hello to you too, 'Zel. So, what's this about if it's not social call, I take it."

"No. It's not just a social call. I-I...I need to tell you about something. Where are Cosette and Marius?"

Gavroche looked around, eyebrows suddenly knitting together. "They're outside. I just finished up my basketball game, so I was about to hop in the shower."

"God, is that why it's so loud there? Where are you?"

"In the locker room, why?"

"Can you find someplace quieter?"

"I can try. But 'Zel, what's wrong? You're scaring me."

"Just let me know when you can talk."

Gavroche looked around and shut his locker. "Hold on." In just a few moments, he walked the length of the locker room, stopping at a row near the front with no one in it. He sat down on the bench, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, talk."

"Oh, that's better. I can hear you now. Anyway...it's about Éponine."

"What about her? She okay?"

"Well...I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know? Wait, have you talked to her recently or something? Wait, weren't you two not speaking to each other?"

"Yeah, well, we weren't. But, now we have to. But like, I haven't yet."

"'Zel, you're confusing me. What's going on?"

A sigh came through on the other end. "Éponine's being abused." It was blunt, straight to the point, no sugar coating it.

He didn't speak for a long moment. "Abused?" he clarified.

"Yeah. Montparnasse."

Again, Gavroche said nothing. Choosing to let the words hit him like bricks. "But that can't be. She...dad went to jail. Montparnasse was taking care of her. She got the good life, you know?"

"No, Gav. She didn't. I mean, I didn't know. I didn't know how bad it really was...not until recently."

"Why, what happened recently?"

"Éponine made a friend apparently."

"A friend? Like she was cheating on Montparnasse?"

"No, not cheating. She just met this guy. Enjolras. They're just friends. But you know how 'Parnasse is. And I guess she couldn't tell him about this friend. So, he's been her secret. Well, one night, I guess she was hanging out with him and Montparnasse couldn't find her. She'd been lying, saying she was at my apartment. So, Montparnasse finally called me. And I just - I didn't know! I think I made it worse."

"'Zelma..."

"Honestly, I didn't know. But I knew something bad happened when I hung up the phone. I just knew she was going to get punished. So, I've been trying to find her since that night, but I haven't yet. But I met Enjolras, and apparently she's been telling him what happens with Montparnasse. Enjolras says it's abuse. But Gav, I don't think she knows that."

"So what are you going to do?"

"Me? I thought _we_ could do something. We have to intervene. We have to get her away from Montparnasse. Convince her that what he does to her is wrong."

Gavroche ran a hand down his face. "'Zel...I don't know. Didn't you call the police?"

"Gav?" she whined. "_We_ have to do something."

"'Zelma, I have school. I can't just drop everything. I've got college coming up - "

"Gavroche! _Your_ sister is getting beaten."

"_Azelma_. Listen. As much as I would love to take a trip down to Boston and bash in Montparnasse's skull, I can't just drop everything here. You can't just go and drop all this information on me. I-I don't know what to do! I-I...I just...let me talk with Marius and Cosette. Maybe they can help. Maybe they have a solution. And what about you? You said you didn't know how bad the situation was? So did you _know _she was getting beaten before this? And you said nothing?"

"Gavroche, please. That's not the point."

"Azelma, if you knew about this, that's a problem. Why are you only mentioning it now?"

"Because I didn't know it was wrong! Okay, Gav? I didn't know. Just please. _Please_. Éponine needs help. She's not safe there. She's not willing to listen to Enjolras. But maybe she will listen to us. Maybe we can convince her that she needs to leave?"

Gavroche sighed heavily, shaking his head. "I don't know, 'Zel. I don't think there is much I can do. Why don't you call the police. Honestly, just get him arrested."

"Gav, please. Éponine won't let him get arrested. She doesn't know there is anything wrong."

"Then stop making it a big deal, 'Zelma. If Éponine is happy getting punched every night, then let her be. Don't interfere."

Azelma gasped loudly. "I can't believe you would say that."

"Me? You can't believe _me_? What about you? I can't believe you. You freaking know my birthday was last month. I just turned eighteen. You think I got a card from you or Éponine? Think I even got a phone call? No. Or how about calling just to say hi? Just to see me? Just to see how I'm doing? No. You guys don't care about me anymore. Why in the world should I help?"

"Gav...no. That's not it. That's not it at all - "

"Then what? You both abandoned me. So don't you dare start making me feel guilty."

"No, we love you. We've always loved you."

"Then why haven't I seen Éponine since I was ten? Why hasn't she ever called?" The tears were coming in his eyes. But no. Boys don't cry. He wasn't going to let this get to him.

"Éponine has been - she _is_ mad at me. But you are the one thing she has loved since the beginning. She still loves you, Gavroche. For the past eighteen years she's loved you, longer than she has known Montparnasse. You are the one thing she loves more than him. It's Montparnasse that won't let her call you. It's Montparnasse who is hurting her, who has manipulated her. But you can change her mind."

He sighed again. "I've got to go, 'Zel. I'll call you later, okay? I'll give you my answer later. Let me talk with Marius and Cosette first. But right now, I've got to shower."

"Gavroche," Azelma croaked, voice breaking. "Please."

"I'll talk to you later." And he hung up, letting the phone fall onto the bench and putting his head in his hands.

This was too much.

...

The walk outside was brisk, with the air nipping at his hands through his gloves. Already, there were flurries in the air, the sky grey, ready to open into a torrential snow. Enjolras shrugged his shoulders higher, hiding from the cold as he walked back down the blocks to the place he last saw Éponine - and this time not in his pajamas.

Approaching the block where her car was parked, he could just see her white Lexus tucked behind a blue Jeep. Her car was marvelous even in the caked on salt from the road. He was jealous of her car, where he only had his cheap red Toyota. There was nothing spectacular about his car, especially compared to hers. But that was besides the point. The point was that he needed to check the car.

The first thing he did was step into the road and pull on the driver's handle. But it was locked. Of course it would be locked. Who wouldn't lock their car in the middle of Boston?

He sighed, leaning his back against the driver's door and just waiting, watching passing traffic go by from his spot in the road. What was he supposed to do? What was he even waiting for?

_Check the car! _Azelma's voice yelled at him in the back of his mind.

_Check the car for what? I can't even get into the car!_

_Just check the car! _her voice hollered to him again.

"Alright fine," he muttered to himself. "I'll check the car, Azelma. I'll check it..." he trailed off. Enjolras eyed the car up and down. He walked behind it and in front of it. He stopped by the the passenger side tire on the sidewalk and looked under the car. There was nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing but a bit of dirt and a few icicles.

He stepped out into the road and squatted down, looking under the driver's side tire. Again, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for...

_What's this?_

Enjolras reached under the car and felt a little black box of plastic that was heavily clipped onto the car. With a loud grunt and a bit of yanking, Enjolras detached the black box. He pulled it back, inspecting it in his hands. He turned it over and over, reading the words:_ iTrack Security _within a picture of a shield.

"Holy shit..." he murmured to himself. "That bastard."

He had half a mind to throw it away right now, smash it, or break it, but then it would surely ask questions. That might just end up making more trouble for Éponine. So, quickly, Enjolras replaced it just as it was with a heavy heart.

"Hey!" someone shouted before he immediately felt a hand grab him by the collar of his jacket. "What are you doing by my car? Trying to steal it?" He was yanked to his feet abruptly by a large man.

This man was huge, with muscles rippling through his shirt as his jacket half hung onto him. He had a short auburn hair cut that crept down his face and into his beard, looping into his scruffy mustache. All the while, it was his eyes that were piercing Enjolras faster than his knife could. Behind this man was shorter scrawny and disheveled mess with dirty blonde hair and drawn features.

"Your car?" Enjolras hissed, shaking this man off of him.

"Yeah, this is _my_ car," he snapped back. "What are you doing with it?"

"This isn't your car."

The man's eyes burned aflame. "Keys! Babet!" he shouted behind him. Instantly, the scrawny man produced a set of keys and stuffed them into the other's hands. He pressed the button on the car and its lights flashed, unlocking the doors. "My car," he announced. "Now you got thirty seconds to explain to me what you were doing by it before I give you a black eye."

Enjolras held up his hands. "I was just checking it out. It's a nice car. 2015 model, correct? It's nice. Sorry to bother you about it. I just didn't expect _you_ to be driving a white Lexus with a pink flowered rope hanging from the rearview mirror."

The man scowled, darting his eyes to what Enjolras was talking about. "My wife put it there," he curtly replied before opening the door and getting into the driver's seat. He slammed the door behind him and waited for Babet to clamber around to the passenger seat.

Enjolras moved back onto the sidewalk, watching in amusement as the man adjusted the mirrors and the seat before pulling out into traffic.

...

The snow began falling heavily outside the window, large snowflakes cascading down to the earth, bathing everything is a silvery shroud. Éponine stared out the window, hands stilling in the sink as she watched the winter wonderland.

Most of the kitchen had been cleaned up by this time of the afternoon, the floors had been vacuumed and washed, the broken glass and objects thrown away, Brujon and Babet came to pick up her car keys, and the only thing left to do was wash the still intact dishes. Tearing her still puffy red eyes away from the window, she looked down to the sink and slide the sponge over the carving knife. The water washed away the soap but the blurry reflection of her face caught in the silver.

Éponine tilted the knife back and forth slowly, watching her face distort in its reflection. Her soapy, dripping hand ran a delicate finger down the edge of the blade, feeling every bit of the sleek steel. The knife was serene yet fearful all at once, it gave her hope while instilling a panic. Everything about her hurt; her heart, her head, her back, her abdomen. But it seemed that the more pain that was added to the collection only turned to numbness. She had been numb for awhile now.. The swelling still arose, but the pain physically lessoned. She was finding it difficult to remember a time when she felt no pain. In her dark and twisted world, the pain was the normality. Her body expected the pain, and for a time, it welcomed it. The pain was the one thing that kept her able. It let her know that in the midst of each torture, she was alive. But now, she was so accustom to the pain, it wasn't even there.

To add salt to wounds, Éponine's mind was trying to comprehend that the past twenty-six years of her life had all been abuse. But she was sure that her relationship was abusive, but even still, now that she knew this, what did it mean? What was she supposed to do with this information? She was certain that she couldn't leave, there was nothing for her to do, nowhere to go.

She was stuck.

These thoughts urged her forward, they solidified and justified her reasoning. Éponine took in a breath and bit her bottom lip as she slid the knife across her scarred alabaster skin. The skin on her left arm split apart and the crimson pooled into it like a release of a dam. The blood overflowed the cut, seeping down the sides of her arm and dripping onto the damp steel below.

The pain gathered and Éponine shut her eyes, basking in it, reveling in it, just knowing that the pain was still there. She was still alive. But like everything else, the pain slipped away from her and transformed into nothingness. When it was fully gone, she sliced the knife across her arm again, running a fresh line over the old, pressing it minutely harder than the last. She inhaled sharply, dropping the stained knife to the sink this time with a loud _clank_.

She was scared of the consequences of cutting, but she needed to. She craved this. Even if Montparnasse would beat her for it later, this was the release she needed in the moment.

Keeping her arm still, she immediately turned on the tap, panting as she rinsed her arm under the fresh water.

That was enough for now. She couldn't allow anymore.

The sound of the doorbell caused her to jump. "'Parnasse? Could you get the door?" she yelled across the house. There was no answer, but it wasn't like she expected one anyway. "I'm doing dishes, could you get it please?" Again, she heard nothing. "Lazy ass," she muttered to herself, immediately grabbing a dish towel and wrapping it around her arm.

Clutching her throbbing arm to her chest, she walked through the living room and into the foyer. She opened the door, letting a gust of wind whip her. Brujon and Babet stood on the front stoop, shaking the flakes of snow from their hair.

"Whoa, what happened to you?" Brujon scoffed as he pushed his way into the house.

Babet followed behind him, holding out her set of car keys and shivering slightly as he brushed himself off. "Gonna be a bad winter," he mused.

Éponine looked down at her wrapped up arm and closed her eyes for a moment before looking back up to him. "You can say that again," she muttered.

"Got your car for you. You okay?" he asked, noting the startled look in her eye and her trembling frame.

"Yeah, just fine," she mumbled, taking the keys from him and placing them in the dish.

"'Parnasse here?" Brujon asked, wandering his way into the living room and making himself at home.

She followed behind them as Babet stood close by her. "Bedroom, I think. I don't know what he's doing in there." Neither answered her but as they looked around, Babet watched her peel the dish rag away from her arm and check the two long cuts.

"What happened?" he asked nonchalantly, giving a subtle nod toward it.

"Oh nothing," she groused as now Brujon's attention was peaked. "I cut myself doing dishes just now. Knife just slipped." She almost smiled to herself, but hid it, it wasn't a lie. In fact, that was exactly what happened.

"Well, get some bandages on it. You don't want it infected." Babet sniveled with the twitch of his face as he wiped his nose with his coat sleeve.

"Get bandages on what?" The chilling voice came into the room, making Éponine freeze. He walked up right behind her, peering over her shoulder. "What's that?"

"Nothing..." she said, shying away from him and moving out of his reach. "I just cut myself ‑ "

There was a sharp intake of breath as Montparnasse's nostrils flared. "Just _cut_ yourself?" She whimpered under his stare, ready for a hit, a slap, but all she heard was a laugh.

"Leave her be, 'Parnasse. She's just a clumsy bitch. If she gets hurt, let her get hurt."

There was a tense moment of silence as Montparnasse stared daggers at Éponine. "Idiot," he mumbled, walking away and taking seat on the couch as he gestured for his friends to do that same. "Where's Claquesous?"

"Working? I don't know." Brujon shifted on the couch before lowering his voice. "Hey, what was she doing up by Endicott, anyway?"

"Like I know," Montparnasse scoffed.

"I was talking a walk," Éponine interrupted. "I wanted to sit in the park - "

"No one asked you, Éponine," her husband bit out tersely. He turned his attention back to Brujon. "She won't say what she was _really_ doing."

"Hey, didn't you used to have a lamp on that table?" Babet asked, intervening in their conversation.

Montparnasse scoffed again, rubbing a hand over his face. "Used to have a lot more plates too." The room fell collectively silent and Éponine took this as her opportunity to sneak out of the room and to the bathroom. As she turned to close the door behind her, something caught in between the door and the door jam so she couldn't shut it.

As she turned around to look, Babet pushed open the bathroom door fully and stepped inside. "You sure you're okay?" he asked carefully.

She nodded, relenting and letting him into the bathroom with her. "Yeah, and thanks for bringing me back my car."

"It's not a problem." He cocked a head to the side. "Wanna tell me what really happened? You know...with the car and the lamp and the cut?"

Éponine looked to the ground. "Not really. I mean, it's not...I'm okay. I've learned my lesson."

He stayed silent for a moment, the only sound was the sniffle from his nostrils. "Well, next time don't be so stupid. What made you think you could run away like that?"

"I wasn't running away, I just wanted some time alone."

"I get it. But I dunno, next time go outside or something. Just sit in the backyard or on the porch. Otherwise, you're just asking for trouble." Babet took a step closer to her, making a motion to grab her arm. "Let me see that." He took her arm before she could pull it away and his eyes widened. "You sure the knife just slipped?"

"Positive."

"Twice?"

"Soap makes things slippery." She half-smiled, quirking her lip up but Babet didn't buy her cheeriness.

"You're gonna have to clot the bleeding. Put some antiseptic on it and wrap it up tightly."

"How do you know so much about cuts?"

"How do I not know?" He smiled this time, gently dabbing the towel over her arm again.

"Hey!" Montparnasse's voice echoed through the hall. "What the hell you doing, Babet?"

The two eyed each other warily as Éponine then pushed past him to the door and stuck her head out. "He just needed a bandaid!"

"Well get your damn bandaid and get out here!" her husband called back.

Éponine turned back to Babet and reached under the sink. She stuffed a bandaid in his hand and smiled. "Go on. I'll be fine."

Babet opened up the little white package and wrapped the beige bandaid around his index finger and finished, holding it up to her with a grin. "Perfect." As he turned to walk out of the bathroom, he paused. "You're awfully good at lying, Éponine. Just...be careful."

He left Éponine shock-still as he glided out of the bathroom and back into the living room. The two men had already taken their respective seats on the couch with beers in their hands. There was an opened beer on the coffee table and Babet assumed that one must be his. Taking it, he plopped himself in an arm chair.

"Yeah, so the whole place..." Brujon said, continuing whatever conversation him and Montparnasse were having before.

Babet took a slug from his beer, trying to hide the tremor in his hand. "What whole place?"

"The Lounge is going under new management," Montparnasse filled him in. "They wanna get rid of the membership. That's what Brujon was telling me."

Babet nodded, pursing his lips up. He eyed around the room in the new silence before finally deciding to say what was on his mind. "Hey 'Parnasse, what exactly happened between you two? Éponine's like scared to death of something."

Montparnasse slowly turned his head to face the stoner, narrowing his eyes. "Why? What did she tell you?"

"Nothing. That's why I'm asking you."

Tossing his head back sneering, Montparnasse gulped his beer and sighed. "We argued, we broke some stuff, had some make-up sex. Then she left in the morning and I had to go find her. She's right, it's nothing."

Babet fiddled with the beer bottle, staring down at it as he tried to connect the pieces. "I dunno, she just seems so scared. I mean, you love her, right?"

Montparnasse looked appalled. "What kind of question is that? Of course."

"Well, then it wouldn't hurt to remind her, you know..."

"What the hell do you know?!" Brujon bellowed, adding in his opinion. "You've barely been able to keep a girl longer than a night."

Babet stayed quiet for a gauche moment longer. "I just know she seemed scared."

"Hey Babet," Montparnasse hissed. "Are you the one married to her?"

He grimaced and shook his head.

"Then stay the hell out of it."

* * *

**A/N: Ahh! Don't hate Gavroche! Please don't kill me for this! But like…I can't see him jumping on board right off the bat and wanting to help much. It's gonna take some time. I honestly messed up this whole Thenardier sibling dynamic…now I have to fix it. **

**Soo…let me know how you're feeling, I bet this chapter was a lot to take in.**


	24. Of Switching Sides

**A/N: I'm sorry I'm taking so long to update. But I just want to thank you all for the continued support. Really, if none of you supported me in this, it would be very hard to keep writing each chapter - they take a toll on you after a while. **

**But this chapter was fun, very different than the past few, and definitely a nice twist. Hope you all enjoy it! **

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies and Husbands

Chapter 24 - Of Switching Sides

...

New Year's Eve.

That day was tomorrow night, and while everyone was busy thinking about their parties and plans and getting drunk, Éponine spent the day working with her head down and her thoughts constantly counteracting one another. She didn't have time to worry about being drunk, she was trying to worry about her marriage.

Now she stood in the kitchen, opening up cabinets as she tried to find something to make for dinner before Montparnasse threw a fit. He already had did upon seeing that dinner wasn't even started when he arrived home from work. But hey, it wasn't Éponine's fault that she decided to do some laundry before dinner and time just slipped away from her. Time always slipped away when she was lost in her thoughts.

Then again, perhaps it was her fault.

She sighed and as soon as she did, the phone rang. Debating for a minute if she should answer it or if Montparnasse would get it, she called out from the kitchen: "'Parnasse? Could you get it?"

She heard a low grunt come from the living room. "You're closer to it, 'Ponine. Just get it."

Éponine sighed again, not even bothering to roll her eyes. She saw this coming anyway. Skipping into the living room, she grabbed the phone on the little table next to where Montparnasse sat. On the last ring before it went to voicemail, not even bothering to see the number on the Caller ID, she picked it up.

"Hello?" she said, a bit breathless as she leaned up against the back of the couch.

"Éponine?! I need you to listen to me carefully. Don't say a word that I don't tell you to, okay? I've only got a second." Her breath hitched for a moment, heart rate starting to increase as his velvet voice rambled on quickly. "Now, is he in the room with you? If he is, I want you to answer yes as a question."

She was silent for a second, glancing over her shoulder to look at Montparnasse. He was engrossed in some show on the television, but she knew he was listening to her. Would it be too obvious if she walked into the other room with the phone? And more importantly, why was Enjolras even calling her? Surely he knew the risks. He wouldn't deliberately try to put her in danger, would he?

Cautiously, she answered into the phone, slow and methodical: "Yes...?"

"Okay," he breathed. "Can you leave the room? Only answer yes or no."

Looking around warily, she sought an escape and carefully took a step away from the couch and closer to the kitchen.

"Who's on the phone, 'Ponine?"

Her feet stopped mid-step. Quickly, she conjured a lie. She took in a small breath and held onto the phone a little tighter. "And what are you calling about?" she asked.

Enjolras was silent on the other end for only a brief moment as he suddenly thought of a plan. "Yes. Pretend I'm a telemarketer. I'm just trying to sell you something, okay?"

"I'm sorry," she answered back. "I don't understand. Why are you calling?"

Her tone was stern and he flustered for a second, wondering what she really meant by those words. "It's about your car. Azelma told me to check it when you had come by on Christmas - "

"Who's calling, Éponine?" Montparnasse demanded, now muting the television and turning his body to face his wife.

Her faced paled as she stared back to him, but she simply shook her head and continued speaking, "I'm sorry, I missed what you said, could you repeat that?"

"It's about your car, Éponine," Enjolras said again. "I found a tracker on it. Montparnasse has been tracking you." Her entire demeanor dropped as she fully took in his words. How could this be? The man she was currently staring at had been tracking her every movement? Is that why he always showed up unexpectedly, is that why he found her? "I need to speak with you," Enjolras continued rapidly. "I'm sorry, I haven't had any other way to contact you. Azelma had your house number. I needed to tell you. But I need you to come to the bar, or I don't know. I just need to see you. We need to talk. But you can't drive here - "

"Give me the phone." Montparnasse kept his hand outstretched, waiting for it.

She lifted the phone away from her ear just minimally. "It's just a telemarketer. I can deal with it."

"No, let me speak with them."

With wide eyes, Éponine took a step backwards. "It's alright." She put the phone back to her ear. "Yes?"

"You understand?" Enjolras asked. "You can't drive here. Answer only yes or no."

"Yes?"

Montparnasse's eyes darkened. "They shouldn't be calling this late. Let me speak with them."

"Now's not a good time," Éponine said. "Could you call again _tomorrow_? I'll be home at _five_."

Enjolras was silent for a moment. "Tomorrow at five? The bar?"

"That sounds good. Thank you very much."

"I'll see you then, Éponine." The line went dead.

Éponine gave a small half-smile to Montparnasse and tossed him the cordless phone. "Just some guy trying to sell me insurance. It's not like I'm going to pick up the phone tomorrow."

Montparnasse stood to his feet, picking the phone up off the couch. "Next time, give me the phone when I ask for it." He walked around the couch, coming up close to her. "Stupid bitch," he muttered with a shove.

She stumbled backwards over her feet before catching herself. "I told you I could deal with it..." she trailed off, murmuring under her breath.

He was about to let her off with just a shove until she decided to open her mouth. He positioned himself in front of her again and grabbed ahold of her chin with his hand, drawing her eyes up to his. "Then perhaps I should just let _you_ deal with everything? I'd like to see you handle all the finances, pay the bills, earn the big income." Clucking his tongue, he clamped his hand tighter on her. "You're no better than a maid. One that's at least good for a good screw when I need it. Now shut the hell up and get to work on dinner. One more word out of you tonight and I'll take you across my knee and give you a good hiding. Understand?"

She knew better than to speak, so she settled on a small nod.

With one final shove, he pushed her into the kitchen and turned on his heel, retreating back to the television.

...

She was as nervous as can be, fiddling with the end of her coat as she sat between two old women on the bus. She only had small change on her and it just so happened to be enough to cover a fare for the bus. It was too cold to walk the blocks from her job to The Musain, and she thanked God above that she had enough money for the bus.

Yet depending on the stupid bus cost her time she didn't have. It was already 5:30 by the time she arrived at the Musain, and still she had yet to even tell Montparnasse that she would be coming home late. Her stomach dropping thinking about what awaited her when she would make it home. There was no possible way she would beat him home tonight.

As she finally entered the bar, she was met with that familiar scent of bourbon and beer which she had grown to love. The crystal blue eyes met her stare as she entered and he couldn't help but smile. Neither took note of a smaller, beady set of eyes that grew in disbelief at seeing her enter. The eyes only ogled as she approached the counter hesitantly, nestling between two groups of men.

"Hey, Enjolras," she said timidly, shaking off her white coat and draping it over the back of the bar stool. "I made it."

He smiled in sheer bliss. "I was afraid you weren't going to. I was afraid something might have happened to you."

"Well, I'm here. And I didn't drive."

"That's wonderful," he mused. He looked around, and as he noticed no one needed his immediate help with drinks, he began to pull out various papers from his jacket. "Alright, let's not waste any time," he started. "I've been in contact with Azelma over the past few days and we've both agreed to do whatever it takes to help you get out. Right now, she really wants to see you and I don't think it's such a bad idea." Enjolras paused to take a breath. "She's even called Gavroche. We should figure something out so you can see her. And here," he continued as he spread out the first sheet of paper in front of her. "I've written up an escape plan for you. These are step by step instructions that you can use to start preparing to leave. Here." He pulled another set of paper from the pile. "This is the name of a divorce attorney. I know of him, he's a great guy, went to the same law school as me. We're going to do this legally, Éponine. Get you completed separated, no loopholes. And here is paperwork for a restraining order."

"I thought divorce was a last option..."

"Well, it's something to consider. Now, have you been able to set aside some funds?"

She shook her head regretfully.

"Right, that's okay. I went ahead, with Azelma's help of course, and started setting aside some cash for you. Once you're ready, we can open you up a separate savings account. Also, here, not that it's needed per say..." He pulled out another sheet of paper with a list of multiple addresses. "I got a list of all the women's shelters in Massachusetts. But, Azelma is more than happy for you to stay with her even if she does live a little far...but if you're comfortable, you can always stay with me." Éponine nodded along tentatively. "Were you able to start gathering some things for a go-bag?"

"Enjolras."

The tone of her voice made his head snap up. "What?"

"Look. I really appreciate all your help but, this isn't necessary anymore."

"What do you mean, 'it isn't necessary?'"

"Well..." She rested on her elbows, rubbing her hand along her cheek. "I just haven't made up my mind completely yet. I just don't know what I want to do. This is all just a lot. I-I just not sure about leaving him - "

"You _need_ to leave," he nearly yelled, not loud enough to shout but loud enough to be heard by any listening ears. "That's what you want to do."

"I just don't know if I'm ready to completely turn my whole life upside down, Enjolras. I don't think I want that."

"But you want to be safe, don't you? Éponine, look. Please just consider what I've been telling you. You've seen it though, right? I mean, he's tracking your car for God's sake. You've seen the signs, right? You must've..."

She looked down this time, hands swirling her wedding band thoughtlessly.

"Have you?" he insisted.

She shrugged. "Sometimes I get afraid of him, just like it said. Sometimes he breaks my things. He'll criticize me often and he blames me a lot for making him mad in the first place. But that one I know I'm to blame for. I always seem to ask things at the wrong time and that angers him. Or when I speak and I'm not supposed to ‑ "

"Wait, what do you mean?"

"Well, sometimes I make a snide comment. And really, I'm only supposed to speak when he speaks to me first. But that is respect."

Enjolras shut his eyes, head falling into his hands. He shook his head back and forth, inhaling deeply. "Éponine, that isn't right," he said upon lifting his head. "This. This is why you need to get out of there. That isn't love. That isn't respect. That is abuse."

"But - I don't believe that."

"Why? Why don't you believe it?"

"Because, he just...I don't know."

"But, Éponine, remember, you came to me, I thought this is what you wanted. I thought you wanted help."

Éponine closed her eyes in contemplation for a moment. She shifted in her seat just slightly and finally opened her eyes looking about to all the other patrons, crowding around the bar counter. "I just don't know what I want anymore," she said, eyes brimming with tears. "I don't want to leave him…but I'm tired of hurting." She dropped her voice down low, so low it was almost inaudible. "I'm tired of crying everyday, I'm tired of being scared…I'm just tired of the pain."

Enjolras' eyes never left her as she talked and he stared at her with so much sympathy in his expression, so much hurt, and want, he didn't know what else to do. So, he grabbed her icy hand and clasped it between both of his, holding it firmly. "Then let me help you, please." He caught her wandering eyes, and saw the brawny man next to her shift is his seat, obviously listening to each word they were saying, obviously feeling discomfort in their personal conversation. Making a decision, he gave her hand a squeeze. "Wait," he said.

Quickly, he detached himself from her and jogged around from behind the bar counter to the other side. She was already turned around in her seat by the time he got to her and right away, he clasped both her hands again.

"I will do anything in my power to keep you safe," he murmured, "but only if you let me." Slowly, he stroked the backs of her hands with his thumbs. "I'm tired of seeing you hurting and not doing anything. Please, let me help you."

She kept her head down, breathing steadily, and pulled her hands from his. "Sometimes," she began, graciously beginning to push the sleeves of her shirt up to her elbows. "I feel like I'm beyond help." She turned her arms over, exposing all the deep red scars that ran down her skin like veins.

Enjolras stilled, eyes bulging as he took in everything he was witnessing. Some lines were deep, some just mere scratches, but each one looked more painful than the last. For a whole minute, Enjolras was silent, staring perplexed at her arms, thinking that what he was seeing couldn't be real.

"Montparnasse…?"

She shook her head, in effect cutting him off, as she lowered her sleeves once again. "I did it."

Hesitantly, Enjolras clasped her arm and pushed her sleeve back up, not finished staring at the deep red lines. "Why?" he breathed.

"I don't know…I just…I didn't know what else to do. It seemed like a good idea. It helped. But it just…I don't know."

"Does Montparnasse know?"

She nodded ruefully. "He found out. He wasn't happy about it." Finally she pulled her arm forcefully out of Enjolras' hands and continued staring down at her lap. "But I don't know, I haven't been able to stop. I just _keep_ doing it." Her voice cracked as she whispered out her sentence. "I don't know why, really. I'm sorry…"

His hands fell upon her shoulders, making her tearful eyes wander up to his. "I - " he cut himself off, gathering a voice to speak. Finding words seemed to be the most difficult thing to do in this moment. But really, what was he supposed to say to her? Sometimes words fail in moments such as these because sometimes actions say more than words ever can.

In the next second, he pulled her from her seat and to her feet, colliding her body into his and wrapping his arms tightly around her. He expected her to pull away from him, to shake him off, to move from his arms, yet, she did neither of those things. Instead, Éponine wrapped her arms around Enjolras and hugged him tighter. She buried her face into his chest and breathed, holding onto him as if he were the only thing keeping her alive – he was her own life support, the one thing keeping her breathing, keeping her living, and keeping her from cutting the knife in too deep.

His fingers made long strokes through her hair, relishing for just a few precious moments at keeping her so close. The world faded out even as he noticed they were still standing in the middle of a crowded barroom and he noticed he was still supposed to be working. But with her nuzzling her face against the fabric of his vest, he didn't seem to notice anything else anymore and he surely did not want to let her go.

"Stay with me tonight," he whispered. "Please don't go home."

She gently lifted her face from his chest. "I can't do that."

"Please. I only want to keep you safe, and I can't do that if you go home."

It was as if those were the words that made her draw away. Suddenly, she began to pry herself from his embrace, turning around to gather her coat from the chair. "I don't want to go home either," she murmured. "But I love him."

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a minute. In the silence, Éponine gathered up her coat, and he opened his eyes to see her getting ready to leave. He knew she loved him, but those words just stung like a bullet. And it seemed his silence at this significant moment did nothing but cause her to flee. He watched her eyes scan across the expanse of the bar and right then, her whole body stilled. He followed her startled gaze to see a scrawny man gazing back at her. It was a man he had seen before, and right away he knew – it was Montparnasse's friend.

She whipped herself around to face Enjolras, eyes wide and panicked. "I need to leave. Now. I'm sorry."

He placed a hand on her shoulder again. "I'll take care of him."

"It won't do any good. You'll only get hurt. Oh god, he's seen too much. He's seen me talking to you." Her voice was becoming frightened, her breathing beginning to falter.

"I'll talk to him - "

"No, just…I just need to go home. Before this gets worse. I just…I just…I…" She trailed off, hyperventilating. "I'm sorry…I'm sorry…I've got to go."

Hastily, she ripped herself from Enjolras' hold before he could even calm her down. In a second, she was flying out the doors of the bar at the same time the scrawny man was placing money on the counter and gathering his coat to leave.

"Hey!" Enjolras called, stomping his way over to the man. "You say one word - "

But the man held up a hand, cutting him off. "Say one word about what?" He shrugged on his coat and promptly walked off, leaving Enjolras stunned.

…

Éponine was out of the doors as fast as lightning, briskly pacing down the sidewalk and heading for the bus stop. She didn't have time to think about anything else, for surely, she was caught, surely everything was going to end badly for her tonight. And yet, she couldn't help but realize, this is exactly what Enjolras is trying to protect her from. This is why he wants to help.

_But help is coming too late,_ she reasoned. _There is nothing for him to do._

As she wrapped her arms around herself, protecting her body from the blaring wind and from the thought of the impending hits, she felt something grasp her arm. She was turned on a dime and was suddenly staring eye level with Babet.

She gasped, voice leaving her at a moment's notice.

"Éponine," he said calmly.

"Please," she begged. "It's not what it looks like. You have to believe me. Enjolras and I…"

He never detached his hand from her arm and gently, he lifted his other hand and rested it on her elbow. She stopped at his motions, eyes widening in bewilderment. Yet, suddenly, Babet stepped beside her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. "Where is your car?" he breathed.

She was panting now. "I took the bus."

He nodded and began walking with his arm around her still, passing miscellaneous people on the sidewalk as they headed toward the corner. For a few steps, neither spoke a word. Éponine stayed perplexed at his odd behavior, but Babet stayed impassive and calm, something she was far from used to. "Why the bus?"

She only shrugged. "It was easier to," she lied.

"You go home yet?"

"I came right from work."

There was another tense moment of silence. "If he asks," Babet said, "tell him I bought you a drink. That's why you're late."

She couldn't respond, yet she gaped at him with incredulousness. Forgetting herself for a moment, she suddenly nodded.

They came to a halt under the little awning for the bus. He motioned for her to take a seat on the bench which had yet to be occupied. She still gazed up to him with gawking eyes, in sheer disbelief of his actions. Babet only stared down to her, a very faint smile hinting at the corner of his mouth. He trailed his hand across the back of her shoulders, sweeping her hair onto the left side. He never detached his hand from her as he leaned down and kissed the top of her head, lingering for a moment at the part in her hair.

She engulfed the volatile stench of him, radiating of cigarettes and weed, but she didn't mind for just a moment as this gesture cancelled out all other bad thoughts of him.

He finally lifted his lips from her head and looked her straight in the eye. "Leave him," he whispered.

Éponine only gazed back, caught in a trance, not even knowing what to do. She was in too much shock to even consider moving a inch from her stationed seat. Yet she watched him give her one full smile before he turned around completely and simply withdrew away.

She was left in the bitter cold, now with every thought making her more confused than the last. But yet, the problem was simple:

She she leave the one she loved?

...

He sat in the armchair, no lamp to be sitting under, still dressed in his suit from work. The television was turned off, and his eyes were deadly set on the doorway that led to the foyer.

She entered the house by 6:45, already knowing that Montparnasse was home. Expecting to be hit by a torment of questions, she was already bracing as she entered the living room.

"I'm sorry, 'Parnasse," she quickly began, "but I ran into Babet." There was no time for formalities, no _hello's_ or _how are you's, _this was time to get to the point, time to grovel before he made her punishment torture, and time to lie before he really found out all about Enjolras.

"Babet?" he sneered, scoffing lightly as he stood from his seat in the chair.

"You can call him and ask, I promise. He was by my job as I was coming out and - "

"Come here, 'Ponine," he said, interrupting her and holding his arm out for her to walk over to him.

Éponine stood still for just a breath before realizing the best course of action was to listen to him. She placed one precarious foot in front of the other as she walked closer and closer to her husband.

As she finally arrived in front of him, he sat back down on the chair and pulled her down on top of him by her wrist. She tensed immediately as she fell into his lap. Montparnasse raised a hand to her face and that instant, she flinched away from him, closing her eyes and hunching her shoulders.

He lowered his hand hesitantly, furrowing his brow. "You thought I was going to hit you? What kind of a monster do you think I am?"

She tentatively relaxed, eyeing him warily. "Sorry..." she muttered.

"I am too," he stated exasperatedly. Éponine nearly doubled over in shock. "Believe me, I'm furious that you weren't home. But..." He paused, reaching up to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Her whole body stayed rigid as he touched her, but he kept speaking, pretending it was normal. "I know how tense I've been lately, which I'm sure you noticed." He looked forward now, avoiding her eyes. "Work has just been really stressful. Mr. Thatcher let two people go and since he has yet to find a replacement, the work has just been piling up and I'm constantly worried that I'm not meeting his standards. The company's been taking on new clients so I've been in meetings for most of my day. And then everyone was celebrating the holidays so all these office parties, and gift giving, and singing...it's just nauseating after a while." He waited for a beat before continuing, "Well, I guess I've just been taking it out on you. And then you left me on Christmas and I just lost it. I'm...I-I didn't - I hope you can forgive me."

Once he finished speaking, he turned his eyes back to face her; her eyes were shining with warmth and happiness. Instantly, she jumped forward and wrapped her arms around Montparnasse's neck, pulling him in close to her.

"Careful, 'Ponine, you might break me," he lightly chided, catching her in his arms and holding her tightly.

Éponine peeled back, giggling. "I'm sorry, I'm just so happy. I just knew you were acting so strange lately, I knew you didn't mean it."

"So you forgive me?"

"Of course I do."

He leaned in close to her, planting a chaste kiss on her lips. "Thank you."

At once, she leaped forward again to wrap her arms around him while his hands delicately combed through her long tresses. Lowly, she moaned at his touch, his movements sending tingles down her spine in such a way that only he could do. The way he stroked her hair could never be matched by any other man, and she knew that.

"I don't want to leave you," she whispered in his ear.

She meant those words - she meant all of them. Carefully, she leaned back to face him again, matching her loving eyes up to his.

His brow knitted together once again, at a loss for the meaning of her words. But he let it slide for now as he lingered a hand on her cheek, admiring her beauty, taking in the way her tired eyes still shined, the way she laughed even though the left side of her face was slightly swollen from where he hit her some time ago, and the way she looked at him with so much adoration, willing to forget everything just because of this one little gesture. His stomach clenched at the thought and his mouth trembled along with his heart.

"Hey," he said. "The boys and I are going out tonight for New Year's. Over to _Cheers _like we normally do. What do you say? Would you like to come with us?"

"Really? You would let me come this year?"

Nodding slowly, he paused in thought for a moment. "I just want to remind you how much you mean to me." He ran a finger over her plump bottom lip and slowly brought her lips close to his. "I don't want to leave you either," he murmured.

Then, like a magnet, both of their lips collided.

* * *

**A/N: Right? Big twist. Let me know what you think of that.  
Also, I wonder if some of you heard about the snow storm that hit the east coast just yesterday. Well, I only got a foot of snow, but Boston got two feet. This storm made me worry about my characters - then I realized they weren't actually alive. (Yeah, I'm losing it) But it made me want to put a storm into this story. Seemed doable...**

**And just one question for you all. In my novel for this story, _Winter's Deer_, I have originally named Eponine's character Emily. But, recently, I was having second thoughts on the name. I love it, it's beautiful, but it's common. and I wanted something more…_uncommon_. So I started thinking about Emmeline. Again, ****another very beautiful name. And it has a certain charm. Well, I'm having trouble deciding now, so what do you think? I'd love your votes. Emily or Emmeline?**

**Thank you all again! **


	25. Of Misguided Intentions

**A/N: Hey all! Well, I'm glad I finally got another chapter up. This is the one good thing about being sick. Anyway, I want to dedicate ****this chapter to Grace - I couldn't get a chapter on your birthday, but now here's one. And congrats on being 15! You'll love this chapter. I wrote it with you in mind.**

**I want to send some special_ thank you_'s to my newest readers: Marius Blowthebarricade, eperil, ****beautifulqueenx, clefaerie and last chapter I forgot to thank Guest24601. So…thank you guys very much. All the support I get is so ****appreciated. But I know you guys are waiting for this, please enjoy. **

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 25 - Of Misguided Intentions

...

The couple parked their car somewhere is the deep bowels of a parking garage before finally taking the long walk towards Faneuil Hall. As they walked through crowds of miscellaneous people, Montparnasse couldn't help but cringe at the amount of tourists still swarming the street. His grip on Éponine's arm tightened as he pulled her through the vast masses of people. Every time someone would bump into him, he would suppress a growl and Éponine would gently offer him a calming pat on the arm. He just couldn't believe it. Ten o'clock at night and these insects were still out and about.

The tourists were like fleas, little nuisances whose only sole purpose was to make the real inhabitants of Boston's live's miserable. They crowded the streets, stopping mid-stride to take a picture, not realizing how much traffic buildup they would cause on the sidewalk. And most of all, Faneuil Hall was the breeding ground for these pests. Why was it that Brujon insisted on coming to this restaurant?

"It's the one from the show! C'mon 'Parnasse, I grew up watching that stuff."

_Oh yeah_, Montparnasse scoffed. _That's why. _

"Is it just me, or do these tourists seem to multiple like rabbits?" Montparnasse said as they approached the plastic-covered green awning with the name _Cheers_ sprawled over ever inch of it.

Éponine stroked his hand lightly with her gloved hand. "They're all just probably out for the New Year. Everyone wants to see the fireworks. I mean, I know I want to."

Montparnasse scowled down at her before lightening his features. "You'll see them," he finally said.

Her face lit up like the sun. "Really? I never have, you know. Oh, this is so exciting."

He chose not to reply as he pulled her along in the line of people to the maitre d'. The women smiled exhaustedly to them. "Hi, how many?"

"I have a reservation," Montparnasse said. "Should be under Moreaux."

She looked down hurriedly over the LED screen in front of her. "Oh, yes. Four. The rest of your party is already here."

"No, there's five."

She faltered a moment as her eyes ran over to Éponine's. "Five? It only says four."

"I'm pretty sure I said five on the phone."

"Oh...well..." She glanced around, eyeing the busy scene in front of her; the masses of people flocking through the restaurant. "Just give me a second."

Montparnasse let out a loud and irritated sigh, rolling his eyes back. "Of course there'd be an issue," he muttered under his breath to Éponine.

She tried to give him an encouraging smile, but he didn't even bother to glance her way. It seemed like an eternity as Éponine and Montparnasse stood by the the maitre d' stand, just waiting for her arrival once again. The people behind on line them seemed to grow within the seconds, standing in an impatient herd.

Finally she returned with a quick hand, waving the couple onward to follow her. So, Montparnasse led Éponine along once again until they saw the faces of Brujon, Claquesous, and Babet.

Each of their eyes nearly doubled as they saw Montparnasse and his arm linked with Éponine's. The three of them were seated at a table for six, three chairs on each side amidst the swarming crowd of people. Brujon and Babet sat on one side, a seat apart, while Claquesous sat across from Brujon at the end of the table. There was barely enough walking room for the couple to get around and take a seat, yet still, Montparnasse pushed his way through and pulled out the chair across from Babet. He gestured with an elbow nudge for Éponine to sit down. As she stood in front of the chair, ready to sit, he stopped her.

"Your coat," he said.

Hastily, she began to peel off her gloves, remove her scarf, and open up the buttons on her coat. Montparnasse stood behind her as he helped glide off the coat from her shoulders and chivalrously placed in on the back of the chair. He motioned for her to sit down and she did so as he pushed in the chair for her.

Once she was taken care of, then Montparnasse took a seat in between her and Claquesous. The boys continued to stare at him in awe as he finally relaxed with an outstretched arm possessively over the back of Éponine's chair.

Montparnasse gave a smirk when he finally caught Brujon's ogling. "What?" he bit out.

Snapping out of his trance, Brujon shook his head. "Nothing. Just...what's she doing here?"

Gazing back over at Éponine, Montparnasse smiled. "She's _my_ wife. I invited her. Got a problem with that?"

"No. Nothing. It's just...this is..."

"...a first," Babet finished with a little smile to Éponine.

"Just..." Brujon began. "I couldn't figure out why they were moving our table before, but now..." He narrowed his eyes just slightly. "Now it makes sense."

Montparnasse rolled his eyes with an impatient sigh, choosing not to comment further. He leaned forward and placed the cocktail menu in front of Éponine. "Pick out something," he told her.

She looked down at it timidly and then placed the regular food menu on top of it. "Um...can I get something to eat before a drink? Just like french fries or something to snack on? I don't really want to drink on an empty stomach."

He scowled to his wife. "Well whose fault was it for not eating dinner then?"

She looked flustered. "Well...I just wasn't too hungry before. I didn't want to eat - "

"No, 'Ponine. We just get drinks on New Year's, okay? It's tradition. Just pick out a drink. That's it." Suddenly, her face dissipated of all happiness and she shrunk in her seat slightly. None of this went unnoticed as Montparnasse just scooted his chair closer to hers so their thighs were now touching and rubbed her shoulder with the hand over her chair. He leaned his face in close to hers and whispered, "Any drink you want. Don't even worry, baby." He pecked her cheek. "We'll have fun tonight, okay?"

The smile lightened her features once again and she nodded.

Montparnasse leaned back in his chair again, his eyes landing on Babet's. "See?" he said snidely.

Babet grimaced and met Éponine's eyes only to receive quite a genuine smile from her.

"Well," Brujon chuckled, sipping on his beer. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready to ring in the New Year!"

A waitress dressed in all black finally made her way over to the table and looked to Éponine and Montparnasse. "Hey guys, looks like we're finally all here. So, what can I get you two? Anything to drink first?"

"Oh, we're here just for drinks tonight," Montparnasse answered.

"Great," she said, smiling widely. "So, what can I get you two to drink?"

Montparnasse glanced down at Éponine who was now looking engrossed in the menu. "Know what you want, darling?" he asked.

"You order first," Éponine responded quickly.

He looked back to the blonde haired waitress. "Just do a Guinness Stout for me."

She gave a brief nod and looked to Éponine.

"Right...um. You know...instead of a cocktail, can I have a Bacardi Martini?"

"Yeah," the waitress said. "We can whip one of those up for you."

Éponine smiled. "Thank you...but can you make sure when the bartender makes it, he just does two ounces of Bacardi instead of two and a half?"

"You got it. I'll make sure to tell him."

"Oh!" Babet said, catching her before she walked away. "A maybe a tray of french fries for the table."

She nodded again, making a mental list.

Montparnasse steeled his eyes at Babet. "Wait..." he called to the waitress, not removing his hardened eyes from Babet. "If we're ordering for the table...why not a round of shots too? Make 'em Tequila."

The waitress paused, watching the stare down between the two men. "Yup. I'll see what we can do. Be right back."

As soon as she was gone, the staring match didn't end for them. Montparnasse locked his eyes on Babet, deliberately making him uncomfortable, challenging him, taunting him.

Brujon looked between them worriedly before finally scoffing. "Where did you learn so much about drinks, 'Ponine?" he asked.

Suddenly, she paled, feeling her husband's hard gaze land on her now. "That's what I would like to know as well," he sneered.

Éponine sat there frozen, heat pooling through her veins as every eye at the table turned to her. She glanced to Babet, searching in his eyes for an answer but he had none to give. So, she looked down, gently swirling her finger in a circle on her thigh. "T.V." she said in a questioning tone. "Like the food network, you know."

"The food network?" Montparnasse repeated, brow raised in suspicion.

"Yeah, you know," she said, avoiding her eyes from everyone. "You just pick up random stuff like that all the time. I'll leave the T.V. on when I'm cooking...you know."

"Yeah," Babet cut in. "I know what she's talking about. They do these segments during the commercials all about mixed drinks and things. Probably where she got it."

There was silence. Nothing but the chatter of people around them; their conversations only hums of rhythm as the five sat in stillness. Éponine shifted her eyes nervously as she made no effort to look at anyone, especially Montparnasse. She wanted to cast a grateful gaze to Babet, but decided against it, fearful that her husband might see.

It was only after an eternity of the solitude that Montparnasse's fingers began swirling on her shoulder again and he gave a small nod. "Right," he murmured. "The food network."

Babet finally looked over at Claquesous who was staring behind the bar at something. He was willing to do anything to switch the conversation. "Hey, you've been quiet tonight, man. Got anything to say?"

Claquesous only shrugged, realizing Babet was talking to him and bringing his attention to the table. "Just thinking about them damn Patriots. They better win in the playoffs now that the season's over."

"Good thing their loss to the Bills wasn't anything major," Brujon scoffed.

"They'll win the Super Bowl," Montparnasse added. "Best team in the whole league. They'll kill it."

"I don't know," Claquesous groaned. "Those Seahawks are pretty matched for them."

"They'll win," he deadpanned. "I know they will."

"Hey, we still coming to your house to watch the game?" Brujon asked as he knocked back the rest of his beer.

"Unless you got somewhere better to be?"

"Hey," Éponine said, a broad smile breaking across her face. "The Winter Classic's tomorrow. I'm kinda hoping Chicago wins, wouldn't that be nice?"

Three glowers found their way to her except for Babet who gave a small grin. "Why Chicago?" he asked her.

The smile on her face only seemed to grow. "Blackhawks have never played a Winter classic before - well, I don't think they have. Chicago's a nice city too. And the game is being played in Washington so already the Capitals have the home advantage. And Ovechkin. I can't stand him. I just think he's such a nasty player. You know...all that jazz."

Babet raised his beer glass in the air. "I think I'll drink to that. Here's to Chicago." He tipped his glass back, taking in a gulp.

Involuntarily, Montparnasse's hand clamped on Éponine's shoulder. "It's just a dumb sport. There's nothing interesting about hockey. Just a bunch of imbeciles running around with helmets on."

"Well, I think there is a lot that's interesting about hockey," Babet said with a sly grin. "It's football that's the dumb sport. You know, just a bunch of imbeciles running around with helmets on."

Montparnasse visibly cringed, eyes darkening by mere shades. "You know what I think, Babet? That you should shut the hell up before I make you."

"Oh?" he challenged. "And how would you do that?"

Éponine widened her eyes, seeing the waitress head their way. "Look, our drinks are here. Great timing," she mused.

Her husband gave her a challenging look which she petulantly ignored, watching the waitress hand out their drinks and place the tray of french fries in the center of the table.

Immediately, Éponine reached for a french fry but Montparnasse snatched her wrist, emitting a gasp from her. "No," he scolded. Without releasing her wrist, he grabbed a fry from the basket and brought it to her mouth. Every eye at the table watched on curiously as he fed it to her, still not releasing her wrist. With one final bite of the french fry left, Montparnasse popped it into his own mouth and then smiled. "Now drink," he levelly said.

Upon freeing her wrist, she gently picked up her martini glass and took a shy sip under Montparnasse's watchful gaze.

"How is it?" he asked.

"I like it."

"Good." He took a shot glass from the center of the table and placed it in front of her. "Happy New Year, Éponine. Go ahead."

She stared at him warily. "Won't we all do it together?"

"Just you first," he answered.

Gazing around, she noticed that every eye at the table was on her, watching her every movement, waiting to see what she would do. She picked up the shot glass, staring perplexedly into the clear liquid.

"Go on," her husband prompted.

Trusting him, she lifted the glass to her lips and took in the liquid in one gulp. It burned the whole way down - just as Tequila always did - and landed in her stomach like a bomb. She couldn't even hide the crinkle in her nose from the taste of it. But as she slammed down her empty glass, Montparnasse's smile only emanated.

"Wonderful!" he cheered and slid another one over to her. "Have mine."

"Again?" she questioned.

"You've got it, darling."

Éponine frowned but as she caught her husband's genuine smile, she smiled as well. Now ignoring Babet's sour stare, she lifted Montparnasse's glass. On the count of three, she knocked back the second shot and similarly slammed it back to the table with a resounding thud.

Brujon caught Montparnasse's wicked grin and pushed a third glass closer to her. "Take mine," he said.

Éponine's grin only widened as a sudden giggle escaped her. "I shouldn't," she said. "Not without a few more french fries."

Slyly, her husband pushed the tray out of her reach. "You can handle it, 'Ponine. Three shots aren't going to break you."

"I've still got my martini, though."

"Well, drink that after. C'mon, we're all waiting."

Her stomach already felt like a brick, the two shot sitting heavy in her stomach like lead. She stared at the third glass cautiously, debating it over in her mind. Already, the alcohol was making her head spin, beginning to impair her thinking skills. She was surprised at how quick it was making the world a little woozy and she knew that the more she drank, the worse the feeling would get.

"C'mon," Montparnasse said again, picking up the glass from the table with his right hand and cupping the back of her neck with the left. Carefully, he tipped her head back perfectly, positioning the glass above her lips and smiled. "Ready?" he asked, receiving a small nod from her. Instantly, Montparnasse tipped the whole glass into her mouth, watching her swallow it in one gulp. "Yes!" he said.

She fell forward on the table, face scrunching in disgust for the foul liquid before her mouth broke into a smile. "Surprisingly, I think it's beginning to taste better." She hiccuped and then giggled.

It was only a matter of moments before she started to feel that familiar weightlessness in her mind and the world around her began to whirl a bit faster, the feeling essentially becoming more fun.

"Want another one?" her husband asked, pushing another glass her way.

She grimaced just slightly, not being able to repress a smile for long. "Doesn't Babet or Claquesous want theirs?"

"Nah," Montparnasse answered.

"I want mine," Babet said, seizing one of the shots from the center of the table.

Her husband's eyes narrowed. "Well, Claquesous doesn't want his, right Claquesous?"

The brute tore his gaze from the television again. "She can have it," he answered.

Instantly, Montparnasse pushed the remaining glass closer to her. "Here you go."

Éponine picked up the glass and looked to Babet. "Wanna go together?" she asked. In turn, Babet charily eyed around and picked up the remaining shot glass. Éponine only chuckled. "Ready? One...two...three!" Together, they each swallowed the contents of the glass and Éponine guffawed as soon as she struck her glass back to the table along with the other empty glasses. "Ha!" she yelled. "That was great."

Montparnasse leaned forward and graciously pushed her martini glass closer to her. "Well go ahead, darling, drink up. You earned it after that."

The second Montparnasse let go of the glass, Babet clasped the base of it. "Don't you think you should eat a bit first, Éponine? You don't want to be drinking so much on an empty stomach."

"Hey Babet," Montparnasse sneered, "what did I tell you? Shut up." He pet Éponine on the shoulder once again. "Don't listen to him, just go ahead and drink."

She teetered side to side, her body swaying slightly as she looked between the two men. "It's almost the New Year? Right, 'Parnasse? Oh!" Her eyed lightened. "When's the fireworks? We'll still see them, right?"

Montparnasse removed his hand from her shoulder just to tuck the fallen strands of hair behind her ear. "Yes, darling, but only if you drink up first."

Her hands gripped the glass faster than a magnet and she brought it to her lips.

"Éponine," Babet said again. "Slow down, it'll only go straight to your head if you drink it that fast."

"Leave her alone, Babet," Brujon interrupted. "If that's how she wants to drink it, then let her be."

"She's fine, Babet," Montparnasse said. "Trust me, I know my wife."

Éponine swallowed a gulp of her martini and placed it back to the table; a grin coating her face. She leaned closer to Montparnasse, resting her spinning head right in the crook of his arm. His only response was tucking his arm around her and pulling her tighter against him.

"What do you say, 'Ponine? Another round?" he asked.

She gave a shrug. "No...don't waste your money," she drawled.

"Well, if you want more, it's not a waste. Besides, it's New Year's. This is a special occasion."

She shut her eyes for a moment. "And what about you? If you and I drink, how are we getting home?"

Montparnasse smiled, gently combing her hair down her face. "Don't worry about me. Tonight, you just have fun, 'Ponine. I'll drive us home. Don't you want to have fun, darling?" he asked accompanied with a kiss to the top of her head.

She giggled at his affection and slowly lifted herself away from him. "Alright," she decided, reaching for her martini glass. "Let's have some fun." She finished off the martini in one more sip and instantly her hands were crawling along Montparnasse.

Her husband didn't mind as she shimmied up next to him, hand running all along his torso while he still held protectively onto her. "Waitress!" he called, grasping the blonde's attention. He waved his hand, gesturing to his table. "Another round of shots."

Brujon was watching the couple amused while Babet only frowned at them. Éponine was making nothing discreet as she scooted herself up higher in the chair to place a kiss to Montparnasse's cheek. He didn't even seem to bat an eyelash as he reached for his beer and took another sip. Éponine finally retired, resting her head on his shoulder and sighing.

In another ten minutes, the waitress arrived with another round of Tequila. She placed down each little glass and scooped up the empty ones. "All good here? Can I get you anything else?" she asked.

"You can get her another martini," Montparnasse answered. He looked down to Éponine who still stayed wrapped in his arms. "Right, 'Ponine? You want another?"

She nodded against him. "And I still want to see the fireworks," she mumbled.

"I know, baby."

The waitress gave her own wary nod before she turned around to fetch another martini.

Left alone with themselves now, Montparnasse picked up another shot glass and held it to Éponine's lips. "Ready, dear?"

"'Ponine, why don't you eat some more before you have another?" Babet interrupted.

In an instant, Éponine lifted herself from Montparnasse's chest and reached for the french fries but Montparnasse was quicker and pushed them closer to Brujon. "No, 'Ponine. Why don't you have some more to drink?"

She looked quickly between her husband and Babet, trying to figure out what to do. But in the haze of her mind, nothing was making any sense. But the time she finally decided to shrug, Montparnasse had the glass to her lips again. She didn't even have time to respond before he shoved the liquid down her throat.

He grinned broadly and as she saw, she mimicked his expression with her own broad grin before falling back against him.

"How do you feel?" he asked her.

"Wonderful," she said, beaming from ear to ear.

"Where are there fireworks?" Brujon asked, this time taking a shot himself.

Montparnasse rested a friendly stare to Brujon as his right arm crossed over himself, absentmindedly drawling fingers along Éponine's thigh. "Eh, come midnight they should be doing them outside the Commonplace. I'm not _too_ sure, but it shouldn't be too hard to find." His fingers danced closer and closer up her thigh, sinking down between her legs and parting them slightly.

Suddenly, she shifted her position, turning her body to face him and nibbling on his earlobe. She moaned just quietly enough in his ear and her hands began to explore his torso once again. "I think I need to go to the bathroom..." she whispered in her husband's ear. "Wanna come?"

Her husband held the widest smile imaginable, already feeling heat pool in his lower depths. "Not yet," he responded lowly to her.

"You two gonna take off then and go see them?" Brujon interrupted.

Montparnasse gave a shrug. "I've been thinking about it. She really wants - " His breath hitched suddenly, his eyes bulging. Reaching a careful hand under the table, he brought Éponine's hands out from between his legs and held onto it.

Brujon gave him a charmed smile, smirking to the couple. "Perhaps a room instead of seeing fireworks?"

Montparnasse chuckled as Éponine continued to work her lips along his neck. "Yeah, she gets a little _handsy_ when she's had a bit to drink."

Babet only scowled at them, anger forming in his bones, ridding him or his underlying cowardliness. "So maybe she should lay off the drinks? You know, maybe you could...I don't know...stop giving them to her," he said.

"Éponine's had more than this before. Relax, Babet, she's fine," Montparnasse replied. He shifted Éponine down enough so she wasn't completely on top of him now. "Now 'Ponine, I've been meaning to ask you all night..."

"Mmm?" she murmured, a sly smiled hanging from her lips.

"Where were you earlier this afternoon? You know after work?"

Her mind fell blank. "Hmm?"

"C'mon, 'Ponine," he said with a little shake. "You know what I'm talking about. You came home from work late tonight. I called your office phone and you never picked up. So where were you?"

Babet slammed the table with his palm, causing a few patrons in close proximity to jump. "For Christ's sake, 'Parnasse! Is _that_ was this is about?"

"Stay out of this, Babet," Montparnasse sneered.

"Just leave her alone 'Parnasse. So what if she came home a little late?"

"A little? Try almost two hours late. But her car never left her job, so that's what I'm wondering." He turned his eyes down to Éponine again. "Where were you?"

"This is ridiculous," Babet said, interrupting Éponine as she was about to speak. "Why did you have to get her drunk to tell you? Just ask her. This is sick, 'Parnasse!"

Montparnasse leaned forward, his deadly eyes boring holes through Babet. "Then _you_ try asking her. 'Ponine lies like a rug. You can't trust anything she says and I'm tried of not knowing the truth. Wives do _not_ keep secrets from their husbands."

"A-an...and so what? What are you gonna do when she tells you, huh?"

"Depends where she really was...or who she was with."

"And what would happen if she was with me?"

Montparnasse stilled, eyes blackening for just a moment before he barked out a laugh. "And why would she be with you?"

"'Cause I took her for a drink. Okay, 'Parnasse? I picked her up from work and bought her a drink. That was it." Babet heaved a sigh, falling back in his chair as he looked over at Éponine, sullenly laying in Montparnasse's grasp, eyes dazed and tired, but a smile still gracing her lips.

Montparnasse was quiet, contemplating this. "That true, 'Ponine?"

Babet was nodding his head to her, hoping she would do the same and mimic her.

"Yeah," she said tiredly. "Except, I took the bus."

Her husband's eyes widened and suddenly the silence took over the table. "The bus?" he questioned.

"Mmhmm...Babet didn't drive me."

His steel eyes met Babet's. "Then why did you say you did?" Montparnasse asked.

"Oh, what does it matter, 'Parnasse. Yeah, I didn't pick her up in my car. We rode the bus. It's just a slip of the tongue, just something you say. You know my car's got a faulty ignition, I can't always drive it."

Montparnasse's face contorted into vexation as his hand balled into a fist on the table. "Why would you even think to take her out?"

"Oh, you want to know why?" Babet taunted. "Because of how shitty you've been to her! She deserved to do something nice. You are _so_ mean to her."

"Yeah? How can you tell me I'm mean? I'm the mean one? I'm taking her out, aren't I? She's _all_ over me! She knows I care about her. She loves it. She loves me. She doesn't need you in her life giving her false information or making her think things about me that aren't true, alright? Just stay the hell away from her, okay? She's _my_ wife - not _your_ friend." Montparnasse averted his angered eyes from the stoner and picked up another shot glass. "Sit up, 'Ponine," he said, nudging her in the arm. He held the glass to her lips again. "Ready, one, two, three." He tipped the glass back harshly, and she swallowed it lazily, the grin still never fading from her face.

She laughed loudly over nothing in particular, reaching for another glass. Abruptly, Babet stood from the table and emptied his pockets of money, not even counting how much he placed on the table.

"What's this?" Brujon scoffed. "You leaving already, Babet? It's not even midnight yet."

"Stand up, Éponine," Babet said coldly, ignoring Brujon. "I'm taking you home."

Montparnasse set his jaw. "Are you freaking kidding me right now?"

Babet took a deep breath and stepped around the table. "I'm not." He reached down to Éponine and clasped her upper arm. "C'mon, 'Ponine," he said calmly and sweetly.

She chuckled, rising to her feet as her head fell back a bit. But in a second, Montparnasse pulled her other arm down roughly, yanking on her shirt. The eyes of others in the packed restaurant were beginning to notice the growing argument developing, some turning heads, some just looking on. But the boys at the table merely pretended none of them were there.

"Get your hands off of _my_ wife," Montparnasse spit as she fell back against him. "Don't you _ever_ touch her."

"I just think it's time for 'Ponine to go home," Babet replied.

"Why? So you can take her home, back to your house?"

"She's just had too much to drink. I'll take her back to _your_ house - "

"Just stay out of it," Brujon hollered, rolling his eyes to Claquesous who was suddenly now interested in what was going on.

"Why? So then you can have her in _my_ bed? Like hell!" Montparnasse flared.

Éponine hugged Montparnasse tightly, burying her face into his chest. "I want to see the fireworks," she mumbled. "Can we go see them?"

With a sneer to Babet, Montparnasse picked himself and Éponine up and reached for his wallet. He produced enough to cover the drinks in cash and threw it on the table. "I'll take you to see the fireworks," he whispered in her ear. "Let's go."

Babet now stood, watching as Montparnasse dressed Éponine in her coat and buttoned up the buttons for her. She stumbled backwards, only to laugh as Montparnasse caught her sleeve. He pulled her in close and Éponine willingly wrapped her arms around her husband, nuzzling against him.

"I don't want to leave you," Éponine said. "I don't know why Enjolras wants me to leave you."

At that second, the air seemed to leave the restaurant, a deathly hallow befalling them, adding a new layer of tension to each of them present.

Babet shut his eyes, palming his forehead. "God, Éponine..." he muttered.

Montparnasse gripped her arms, squeezing tighter with each passing second, face falling to stone as he glared at Babet. "_What_ did she just say?"


	26. Of Fury and Fireworks

**A/N: Hey everyone. If most of you follow Coerced, then you know about my little rant, my uh…meltdown, if you will. Well thank God for you all. Honestly, I was ready to put those stories on hiatus until I was ready to write again, but I can't thank you guys enough. I've read everything that has come into my inbox and it just touches me. (I'm working on replies, please bear with me.)**

**Really, I was…perhaps I still am…but I'm going through a dark time in my life. But what better way to not let it get to you than to kick some ass. (Excuse my language) But I found the courage from you all to go out and write the best chapter of OHHH that you have ever seen! Yeah, it's not perfect, yeah it's not a masterpiece, but it's wonderful to me. And it kicks butt. **

**So _thank you all._ Why are you all so amazing to me? **

**Now, I will warn you. Go find a comfortable spot, wrap up with a blanket or a pillow, or both, get ready and get set. This one is intense - with violence and all - and as we're nearing the end…you're gonna be in for a wild ride.**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 26 - Of Fury and Fireworks

...

There comes a point in time when you find your world crashing around you, everything that you once believed in, everything that made you who you were, everything that you held so dear, suddenly it vanishes. It is as if all of that disappears into the air, gone in a cloud of smoke, evaporated, dissolved, and lost into the vast sky.

Montparnasse...he could feel his world falling from his grasp. Vividly, he could see her wrapped in another man's embrace as he whispered in her ear over and over, asking her to leave _him_. The man's hands glided along the curves of her body, touching everything that belonged to _him, _leaving his own marks on her skin, finding ways to stake his claim - laughing at _him, _mocking _him. _It sickened Montparnasse down to the core. His own wife let this man hold her, let him touch her - she breathed his name as he brought her to ecstasy. It seemed his control was slipping no matter what he was doing. But oh, he would make her rue everything and more importantly, he would find out the truth.

His fingers gripped her harshly, locking her in position, making sure there would be no escape from his hold. He shook her just enough to make her dazed eyes look at him. "Who is Enjolras?" he asked gravely. "What did he tell you?"

Her eyes landed on his lips that held an unforgiving scowl. Giggling, she tried to close the distance between her lips and his but immediately he shook her again, pushing her away from him without losing his hold on her.

"Enough, 'Ponine. Answer me."

"Jesus Christ, 'Parnasse," Babet cut in, "leave her alone."

Suddenly, Montparnasse set his eyes on Babet, his brow lowering, threatening him. There was something in Babet's eyes, something unusual about them, something that was making him stand up for Éponine, something causing him distress. "What do you know?" he asked.

Babet ran a hand down his face. "Nothing, 'Parnasse. But you're causing a scene. She'll answer you when she's sober."

"No," he said. "You know something."

"I don't know anything."

"What do you know?" he questioned as he lunged for Babet, never letting go of Éponine. Instantly, Babet took a step backward at the same time that Brujon stood to his feet. "Tell me what you know, Babet!" he demanded, yelling throughout the restaurant.

Babet stayed impassive.

Eyes were watching them now; quiet murmurs and hushed tones, fingers pointing and judging stares. A crowd of waitresses stood from afar, looking back and forth to one another before finally a waiter broke from their small circle. He approached Montparnasse cautiously, as if testing the water before he dived in.

"Excuse me, sir," he timidly began.

Dark eyes snapped to the waiter, flames roaring from the pupils. "_What_?"

Wringing his hands together, the waiter took a a small step forward. "I'm sorry, sir. But your conversation is causing a bit of a disturbance. If you could keep your voice down, it would be much appreciated. And if not, we're going to have to ask you to step outside."

"Outside?" he repeated as if it were a joke. Scoffing, he shook his head in disbelief.

Éponine only snuggled up against him, bare hands fisting the material of his dress shirt. "Can we go see the fire...works, baby? You told me you would...we would see them?"

For a solid minute, Montparnasse grit his teeth, jaw clenched as he looked between the waiter, Éponine, and Babet. With a sharp sigh, he spoke: "There should be enough to cover everything on the table. We'll be on our way." He met Brujon with a deadly stare. "Let's go."

Abruptly, the remaining two stood from their seats under the eyes of onlooking patrons. Leading the way, Montparnasse dragged the stumbling Éponine behind him while the other three took up the rear. The five finagled their way through the crowds, bumping into individuals here and there until they finally made it out into the brisk and frigid night air.

Determined, Montparnasse marched through the emptying streets of the Boston Marketplace, letting the fullness of his anger overtake his mind. He searched around, eyes frantic, until he saw what he wanted and darted off down a narrow street. Every step or two, he would make sure that his friends were following behind him and he would grip Éponine harder as she tripped over her feet in the hast.

With a few more quick steps, he found the perfect dark alley nestled between two tall buildings. He stuffed Éponine further into the darkness, pinning her up against the wall.

"Listen to me, Éponine," he said, tucking his left hand under her chin and pressing her head into the bricks behind her. "Look at me. Tell me who this Enjolras is."

Her mouth broke into a smile, her eyes searching everywhere but his. "I don't see any fireworks."

His right arm left its position on her midsection, and immediately, he slapped her across the cheek, but with his left hand securing her chin in place the pain only intensified. "Don't play stupid with me, 'Ponine. Look at me and tell me."

"For God's sake," Babet groaned. "She's drunk. She won't tell you anything. Just let me take her home...maybe I can find out."

"Shut up. You're gonna stay the hell away from her. She'll tell me. She knows she hiding something. She won't tell me if she's sober." Montparnasse shifted his hips against hers, pressing her harder against the brick behind. "C'mon, 'Ponine, tell me the truth. Tell me about Enjolras. What did he tell you?"

"Enjolras?" she giggled.

"Yes. Who is he?"

"Enjolras," she said again. "Enjolras who?"

Another slap found its way across her cheek and she sucked in a breath, wind blown out from her mouth. This time, her head teetered back and forth across the brick and she moaned quietly. There was no trace of inexplicable humor on her face anymore, her own happiness had vanished.

"Ow," she murmured after a moment as the pain swelled. "You hit me?"

"And I'll hit you again. So tell me."

Babet exchanged a glance with Brujon and Claquesous, but neither showed an ounce of guilt, neither seemed worried, instead they stood, enjoying the show, enjoying the display of power on Montparnasse's behalf. Babet took a small step forward. "She won't tell you, 'Parnasse. Not if you keep slapping her!"

It was like every nerve in Montparnasse's body paused for just a brief stint of time, enough to make the synapses in his brain snap and he found himself face to face with the most incredible thought. He turned himself around, bringing Éponine off the wall with him. Taking a bold step toward Babet, he narrowed his eyes. "Then _you_ slap her."

Montparnasse positioned the stupefied Éponine in front of himself, holding her upper arms behind her back. He kept his left hand clamped around her bicep while he grabbed ahold of her hair with the other hand, forcing her head up.

"I'm not slapping her," Babet said, appalled and eyes wide, frantic.

"Why?" Montparnasse asked, feigning innocence. "You've been wanting to touch her all night, even take her home. Well...now I'm letting you touch her."

"That's not what I meant - "

Brujon scoffed, looking between the men. "Didn't you say you could get the truth from her? Well, go ahead, Babet. Get the truth."

Montparnasse grinned in the darkness, his pearl teeth radiating from the glow of the moonlight. "Man up, Babet. C'mon, slap her."

"I don't hit women, you know that," Babet deadpanned, hiding his growing anxiety, hoping they couldn't see the sweat forming on his brow, even in the cold.

"Aww...well aren't you a sweetheart?" Montparnasse taunted. "C'mon...Éponine needs a few good slaps tonight. C'mon, give her one. One good slap. Get the truth from her."

Instinctively, Babet stepped back minutely, closer to Brujon. "This is sick, 'Parnasse. I'm not going to hit your wife." He shook his head, running a hand down his face. "No, I'm done. I'm sorry."

As Babet turned around, he slammed headfirst into Brujon. "Do it, Babet, or don't even think about coming home tonight," he threatened.

For a second, it felt like all thought in his mind vanished. He was at an odds. What was he supposed to do? Surrender his morals or sleep on the streets for the night? Was there a way that didn't end with any hurt?

"You call yourself a man, Babet?" Montparnasse's voice broke through again. "Show me you are." He gave Éponine's body a small shake, readjusting his hold on her hair.

Babet stared down at Éponine, his heart already breaking for every shred of guilt he felt for her. Underneath the cloud in her eyes, he could see how terrified she was, he could see the slight tremble of her white coat through the blackness of night; he knew she was petrified. Yet, even though he saw that, he still took a step closer to her, but he didn't know why. He didn't want to hurt her, but he didn't want to be without a place to stay tonight. His hand raised and still no fathom of reason came to his mind.

When her eyes landed on his, his heart sank; he watched her white breaths of air coming out labored and even still, his pulled his hand back. But as he let it come forward, his palm met her cheek with a soft tap - a brush of his hand over her cheek.

Montparnasse scoffed. "That wasn't even a slap, Babet. C'mon, I thought you were tougher than that." He shoved Éponine forward slightly, closer to Babet. "Give her a real slap. A good one."

Babet looked between Montparnasse and Éponine once more. His eyes lingered on hers, staring deep into her brown pupils, now turned black under the shroud of night. He couldn't do it.

Even if Éponine couldn't think straight, even if the alcohol was fogging her mind and spinning her world, she could clearly see Babet and she knew the depravity of what was happening. So, she did this for him. She sucked in a breath and held his gaze. So lowly that it could have been confused by the wind, she whispered only to Babet: "It's okay."

How could she be this strong? How could she let him do this? How had reality turned this screwed that what was wrong seemed right? Babet didn't know the answer to any of that, except he knew that Éponine was more of a man than he was, and he was sorry for that.

Gritting his teeth, Babet pulled back his palm and struck her across the cheek; the sound of the smack echoing into the dank alleyway. She kept her eyes closed for far too long, afraid to open them, afraid of another hit. The world around her kept spinning and the only thing that kept her from falling over were her husband's hands still clasped in her hair and around her arm.

With a bitter chuckle, Montparnasse turned Éponine around to face him. "My pretty 'Ponine...my darling, won't you tell us now?" She finally opened her eyes and when she did, she did not see the warmth and the guilt that Babet's had. No, now she stared into the cold and unforgiving green eyes of Montparnasse. "I'll only ask once more: Who is Enjo - " He cut himself off, realization dawning. "Enjolras..." he repeated, as if it were a foreign word. "Enjolras, Enjolras...the man who saw you crying? The man who punched me? The one from the park."

"The park?" Éponine repeated this time, trying to recall any kind of park from her memory. "What park?"

"So it was a lie, my dear." His voice was grave. "You never went to any park with him? Then tell me. Where did you meet him?"

"Enjolras?" she asked. Her eyes closed again, focusing on her brain pounding against her skull. "He's a friend..."

"Shut up, Éponine," Babet nearly yelled in a trembling tone. "Don't talk. Don't tell him anything."

Suddenly, Montparnasse pushed Éponine to the ground in one forceful shove, sending her scraping along the worn cobblestones. He locked his vision on Babet and hurled himself at him, restraining him against the adjacent wall. "What do you know?" he seethed. "Tell me who he is. Tell me what she is hiding from me!"

"What kind of sick bastard are you, 'Parnasse? What the hell is wrong with you? You drag us to some god-forsaken alley just to get the truth from her? I won't tell you. Never in my life will I tell you. You don't deserve the truth. Because I know, _for a fact_, Enjolras loves her more than you do - "

The last breath of the word barely left his mouth before he was silenced. Montparnasse's face contorted, twisted, fueled in anger as he struck his knee into Babet. The stoner silently screamed, a sharp cry finally emitting from his mouth once he fell to the ground.

Montparnasse towered over him, admiring his handiwork with a smug smile dripping from his lips. He cast a glance to Brujon and Claquesous who both remained stoic but each with their own simper dawning on their faces. In two steps, Montparnasse stood above the ghost of white and reached down, grabbing her by the arm.

"Stand," he instructed, jerking her to her feet. He pressed her firm against his solid chest, breath hot on her own. "Oh, 'Ponine. I'm going to make your life hell tonight...and you can thank Babet for that."

As he yanked her away, she glimpsed back at Babet who was still howling in pain on the cold ground. Her eyes met his for a second, yet she never sent him a scornful glance, instead it was poignant, heart-rending..._grateful_. But she was whisked away before she could stare at him for too long, stumbling along behind Montparnasse, struggling to keep pace with his long strides like a dog. She could feel the tears welling in her eyes as the distant sounds of canons erupted. The sound sizzled and crackled before it faded away and another canon went off.

Why was she always just out of reach from the things she loved?

From his vantage point on the ground, Babet could see their silhouettes fade away as the darkness engulfed them. Her white coat was the last thing visible until it disappeared into the inky night along with his last image of her. A small tap by a foot caused him to look up and see Brujon standing above him.

"You can get up," he stated. "You good?"

Babet slowly sat himself up, hand still abating the pain between his legs. He groaned quietly before shuffling to his feet, now standing before his so-called friends. "Fine." Shaking the dust and dirt from his jacket, Babet glanced between his two formidable friends, waiting for them to say something to him.

He was thankful for the cloak of night that hid the pain in his eyes, the last thing he needed was Brujon to make him feel like an imbecile for his menial emotions. The fact is, he shouldn't feel anything, he spent years running from his emotions, he buried them, incinerated them, drowned them until they were dead; yet now here they were, building in his stomach like vomit. These feelings made him sick, but no, it was what he did that disgusted him.

The guilt would not let him rest. He made things worse for himself and for Éponine especially. Would she even survive until tomorrow now? But what would she look like if she did? Would she even be able to walk, or breathe on her own? And what about himself? He disobeyed the one rule he followed like a religion. He swore he never would. He didn't want to. But he did.

It's not like he could change the past. What's done is done. There was no going back.

And Babet loathed himself for it.

In the quietness of night, the sound of cannons erupted from somewhere in the distance. Babet's heart sank. A long forgotten ache appeared behind his eyes and his throat ran dry. Suddenly he snapped, he would not let them see him like this.

Brushing past Brujon in a hast, the gruff man stopped him, pulling on the sleeve of his coat. "Where you going?" Brujon asked.

Babet stopped on his heel and turned around, giving a small shake of his body to rid Brujon's hand from him. "Man, I just…I just…I-I need a hit right now. I can't think straight, I just need to leave."

In reply, Claquesous made only a small sound, similar to that of a grunt. It was the most eloquent thing he had said all night.

"I'll be back later. Don't wait up for me," Babet said, already turning to leave.

As he continued on his way, he could hear Brujon scoff. "Never do."

With a gulp, Babet carried on, forcing his feet forward, pushing onward with no particular destination in mind. His breath was wheezing while his heart kept breaking. Not intending to, he found himself wandering toward the crowds. They were illuminated by colors splaying across their face, green melting to red, then white as they stood underneath the radiant sky.

For a moment, he was mesmerized by it. But he couldn't stare at it for too long. Every passing second he looked at it made his heart swell, for she was not watching it. In a hast, Babet stepped to the side about to dart off once again, but collided into another mesmerized body.

"Sorry," he muttered, drifting his eyes up to see who he ran into.

It was a woman he didn't know, but a beautiful one. In the black of night, her red hair was dark, shining with the colors that exploded across the sky over and over. Her eyes reflected the sparkling colors as she looked back to him, eye-level. In the moment, he didn't realize that his hand was still on her arm until she motioned to it and he retracted it as if her arm were a flame.

"Sorry," he said again. "I-I didn't see you there - "

Another explosion cascaded across the sky, this time in the shape of a heart. Simultaneously, they both looked over to the firework, eyes widening with awe.

"It's beautiful," she murmured. "I love watching the fireworks, don't you?"

He took in a breath, tearing his eyes away from the brilliant sky. "No."

Her brow furrowed. "That's odd. But you're here watching them?"

"No, I'm leaving." Just then, her eyes dropped down and met his, her head tilting to the side, trying to figure him out. "And what about you?" he asked curtly. "You're just here by yourself watching them?"

She turned her eyes away from him, sticking her hands into the pockets of her coat. "Yup." She waited before speaking again, noticing how he didn't leave like he said he was going to. "So why don't you like the fireworks?"

How was he supposed to tell her? He couldn't, right?

"There was a girl," he started. "She wanted to see them. I kinda just messed everything up." He sighed heavily. "I think I kinda just messed up her whole life."

Suddenly, she looked back to him, her eyes incredulous. "How?"

"I didn't help."

The silence grew between them and she scoffed. "Funny. I think I'm in the same boat."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I'm here by myself, aren't I?" she questioned, placing her hands on her hips.

"Oh," he said, but he could not hide the confusion in his voice. "Um...?"

"I had this friend," she continued, hands finding her pockets again. She kept her gaze positioned into the sizzling colors that began to fade into smoke. "My friend needed some help. I wanted to help, but my boyfriend told me not to get involved. I don't know. I just left him. I couldn't understand why he didn't want to help. Now I haven't even spoken to him in weeks."

"Well, did you help?"

"No." She laughed at herself. "I don't know why I'm telling you all of this. Sorry. But can you believe it? I lost my boyfriend because I wanted to help and I still didn't even help." Shaking her head, she bitterly chuckled, not even embarrassed that he was staring at her now.

Babet stayed silent for a minute, just listening to her chuckle before it died away. "Just go to him," he finally said. "That's what I'd do." Nodding, Babet took a step backward. "Enjoy the fireworks."

He saw her turn around, watching his movements, so he gave one small smile as a goodbye and left her standing there alone.

Babet was ready now - he was ready to leave here for the rest of the night, go off somewhere far away, leave his troubles, and leave this pain. He found another small alleyway after a ten minute walk. Sinking to the ground, he huddled up and took off his coat, exposing his T-shirt clad self to the biting wind. But it wasn't a worry, in a coupe of moments, he wouldn't even feel it.

He opened up his inside jacket pocket and took a deep breath. The second the needle pierced through his skin, he could feel the familiar sensation overtaking him. He succumbed to it with a smile.

Yes tonight, he didn't just want to get high - tonight he wanted to soar.

...

When they entered their dark home, Montparnasse tossed Éponine to the couch as one would a piece of trash. He paced back and forth in front of her as she tried to sit up, using the pillows for support.

"Are you sober yet?" he spit.

She didn't know how to respond, honestly. Her face was throbbing, her head thrumming, the room wasn't ceasing its twirling, yet she understood what was happening.

Was she sober?

She shrugged.

The second she gave her answer, his pacing stopped abruptly and he glared at her. "Perhaps I should smack you again." He raised the back of his hand this time, and she jerked away, bracing herself with her arms.

"I'm sober!" she cried.

"Good," he replied, dropping his hand to his side. "Then tell me. Where did you meet this Enjolras? How do you know him?"

She cast her eyes to the floor under his intense stare. "Umm...I-I..." she stuttered.

His hand caught her wrist as she began to lower it back to her lap and he tugged her forward on the couch, close enough to feel his breath on her. "Why don't you tell me?" he sneered.

Her heartbeat quickened rapidly, her breath turning ragged. "It was the park."

Slowly, he picked up her wrist and stuffed it with the other one into his large hand. "Oh...the park, hmm?"

She nodded. "It was one day during work, I went to the park for lunch - "

_Slap!_ "Try again," he challenged.

Éponine hissed at the sting, head still hanging to the side as she waited for the pain to cease. Premeditatedly, his hand was still gripping both of her wrists so she couldn't clutch her face to abate the pain. Instead, she lifted her eyes to stare at his chest, not meeting his threatening gaze. Her head felt heavy, like it was about to fall off her shoulders at any moment. Through the clouds in her mind, she thought of something else. "Mr. Gallagher asked me to ‑ "

_Slap!_ "Try the truth this time."

Éponine closed her eyes, trying to catch her breath, and not make a sound indicating any discomfort. She paused for a moment, gathering most of her thoughts, trying to come up with something, but right now, it was difficult to even find the truth. "He came into the office - "

_Slap!_ "We can do this all night."

Her head felt like lead, wavering, teetering on top of her neck. Panting, she stammered out, "T-the...the Lounge. When I ran away."

His hand raised to strike but only centimeters from her cheek, he stilled, lowering his face to hers. "That night? In October?" he whispered. He looked away from her, trying hard to recall. "The man who brought you back to me..."

Her eyes stayed screwed shut and she gulped in a large breath of air. "I saw him again after that...saw him a few more times. He's a client. H-he's working with Mr. Gallagher. We talked, we're friends, that's it."

It wasn't the truth, but it was close enough to the truth and already she felt like she betrayed him. Montparnasse's hold on her wrists tightened, crushing the bones together, ready to snap them in one quick move.

"You're friends?" His voice was a breath, one full of disbelief, one full of hurt.

How did this quickly turn into something worse than it was? She thought the worst of her punishment would be a slap, or a hit for her actions, but she never expected part of the truth to slip out so suddenly, insinuating worse than the situation really was. It was an accident, and one she needed to dig herself out of now. She shrugged her shoulders, taking a breath. "It's not like that, 'Parnasse. We are _only_ friends. We don't hang out, or talk about anything personal - "

In one quick second, Montparnasse had Éponine's head pressed against the coffee table, knees on the ground, hand engulfing her skull and crushing it against the hard surface. "What did I say about having friends? About having _male_ friends?" Gradually his voice was beginning to raise. "Did you ever once tell him: 'I have a husband?' Or 'I'm married,' or even, 'I shouldn't talk with you. My husband wouldn't like it very much'?"

"It wasn't like that," she sputtered out, hands clawing the corner of the coffee table. "He knows I'm married."

His fist grabbed a handful of her hair before sending her colliding into the hardwood floor. "Then he shouldn't have even talked to you more than once! And what is wrong with you?" he yelled. "Do you really hate me that much that you have to be friends with him? You've been friends with him...in secret from me...since October?! _Since October!_ God, 'Ponine! He'll take advantage of you. Or...or...no. You let him? You let him take advantage of you! You hate me, that's it? That's why you let him? I'm not even worth anything to you anymore? Is our marriage nothing to you?"

"No, I love you," she croaked, hands brushing tears from under her eyes.

"Could'a fooled me! I don't even think you know the first thing about love! Love means respecting your husband. Love is loyalty and trust. You think I trust you right now? You think you've been very loyal to me?" Montparnasse eyed around for something to smother his anger, and soon his eyes found the broken remote on the coffee table behind him. He grabbed it, holding it high, and smashed it to the ground, narrowly missing Éponine's head.

She yelped earning her a hearty kick in the side of her ribs. Wrapping her arms over her head, she tucked herself into a ball, crying hard into her knees.

"Cry all you want, you pathetic skank. You disgust me. You didn't even have the decency to tell me what happened. You expected this to be a secret? You were gonna hide it from me? You were going to keep lying? Did you really think I wouldn't find out? You weren't even going to tell me if I never asked you about it." He squatted down, right next to her face and his fingers gently brushed her hair back. She flinched away from the jarring touch, already trembling at where the pain would come next. "I thought you loved me."

"I do," she whimpered.

"Then show me." His words were venom, a devil's demand.

"How?"

Montparnasse abruptly stood to his feet, grabbing a handful of her shirt and bringing her to her feet as well. He began leading the way out of the living room, crunching the broken plastic pieces of remote underneath his shoes on the way out. Storming his way into the bedroom with her dragging behind, Montparnasse tossed her to her knees and slammed the door.

"Beg," he commanded, standing in front of her with hooded eyes.

Éponine looked up to him with sorrow, face reddened from tears, palms up in confusion. "For what?"

He grumbled impatiently, folding his arms across his chest. "For my forgiveness. I want to hear you say you'll do anything to make it up to me. That you'll accept your punishment with willingness. That you will never even look at any other man that isn't me...again. Now, beg."

She looked to the floor, lips trembling. "I'm sorry, 'Parnasse. Please forgive me."

"Keep going."

"I will do anything to make it up to you."

"Will you ever even look at another man?"

"Never. I'm sorry," she sniveled, demeanor changing so suddenly into one of a misbehaving child, returning, submitting back to what she knew. "Please forgive me, 'Parnasse. I'd do anything...for you. I _will_ do anything."

"What do you want me to do?"

She stilled, stunned by his question. "I'll do anything."

"You'll accept your punishment?"

"Yes."

"Willingly?"

She bowed her head resting her hands on her thighs. "Yes."

"Beg me for it," he calmly instructed. Her eyes snapped up to meet his, silently questioning his demand. "Look _down_ and beg me for it."

Complying, Éponine sunk her gaze back to the ground and said with a breath: "Punish me. Please punish me."

A sick smile fell over Montparnasse's lips, his whole body getting excited just by her very words. "Tell me again."

"I need you to punish me for what I did to you," she said softly, trying to mask the tears in her words. "Please."

His emotions took over, the internal desire fueling his actions now; reason falling away. Montparnasse took hold of Éponine's face with both hands, crashing his lips into hers, colliding his teeth along her mouth, ravishing her with animalistic intent.

She sat confused at what was happening, but she did nothing to stop him, instead she closed her eyes and succumbed to him.

Montparnasse's face tore away from her and his palm slapped her across the face. Immediately, his hands clutched her hair, bringing her lips back to meet his and forcefully, he stood her up, keeping her mouth fixed on his, not stopping to give her a breath. He shoved her back until she slammed into his dresser. With a broad smile, he gripped her chin and thrusted her head backwards, letting it slam into the wood; smile turning to a sick grin when she didn't utter a sound.

Éponine shut her eyes as his fist collided with her abdomen. She doubled over herself, but Montparnasse held her, keeping her from falling over.

"Tell me you love me," his icy words ordered as he seized ahold of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath his fingers. His body pressed against hers, his rigidity firm at her thigh. "Look at me, Éponine." He shook her slightly, forcing her eyes to open. "And tell me."

Éponine cracked open her eyes, face set in a dead expression as she stared at her husband before her. Montparnasse. This was the man she had known for years, since she was a little girl. This was the man who saved her life, who took her away from her gruesome past. This man, whose fingers tightened around her neck with each passing second, who was suffocating the air from her lungs, and whose smile only intensified; this was the man she loved.

Her eyes turned glassy, conveying the hurt passing through them and with the last bit of breath she had in her lungs, she breathed, "I love you."

She fell to the ground, heaving and the world slowly lifted from the blackness that was swarming her vision. But her world didn't stop moving, she was shifted from the ground in an instant, being tossed onto the bed with a large weight on top of her. Greedy fingers were all over before she could even comprehend what was happening.

With no time to recover, no permission, and no second thought, her clothes were tossed away and he was inside her.

His body was suffocating her, pinning her down as his arms wrapped around her. He shifted their bodies on their sides, enveloping her in his embrace, shoving her face into his chest. "You love me," he murmured. "I know you love me."

He wrapped his legs over hers, compressing them between his. His arms only tightened around her and she did nothing to respond. Slowly and painfully, he was choking her body with his own. The only thing she did, was let his wavering words hit her again and again.

"You love me, Éponine. Don't leave me." His voice was turning scared, now only a whisper. He nuzzled his face into her hair, his muscles squeezing her body as a cobra would. "You won't leave me, you're mine. You love me." Suddenly, his breath hitched and he inhaled sharply, gritting his teeth, screwing his eyes shut. "You love me," he whispered again.

Éponine was ready to cry, her body ached, her head pounded, and the tears were trying to come. But she swallowed them back and opened her eyes. She stared straight through him, determined, resolute. "It's okay, Montparnasse," she whispered to him, arms finally embracing him just the same, drawling a small circle on his bare skin. She took in another deep inhale, holding back the hurt, holding in the emotion as she let out the words in a flat breath; a breath cold, unfeeling, already dead: "I love you."

* * *

**A/N: I'm praying that you all understood what just happened. But if I were to flat-out tell you with exposition, it would ruin the writing. I hope you guys liked this one, and I hope this chapter seemed more…_me._**


	27. Of Giving In

**A/N: Hey all, I've been working on this chapter for quite sometime but God…I've been terribly busy. Want me to take a moment and just let you know? Schoolwork, classes, essays and editing, filming on weekends, crew meetings, interviews… (But I will take a moment and say how I filmed an interview for my documentary with Adam Jacobs who plays Aladdin in _Aladdin_ on Broadway. Now _that_ was incredible…yeah, I went to his dressing room!) and on top of it all, I have developed a crush on someone. I hate it. And seriously, I can't stop thinking about him. He is invading my thoughts and not letting me plan out the next chapter. This is not fun, and I hate ****this.**

**So yeah, I'm behind on a lot of things and right now I literally just finished off this chapter. In my opinion, it feels like a filler, but I hope it's captivating enough…I think you can feel everything building in this one here. Hope none of you are too upset by this one. **

**I think I'm in too deep to abandon you all, but I beg you to bear with me. And honestly…reviews and messages, I'll always read them and those are what constantly remind me to keep writing and remind me not to give up on you guys. I'm so appreciative of you all and I just will thank you again. **

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 27 - Of Giving In

...

Burning. Aching. Sweating.

She was suffocated beneath him, his warm body clasping onto her, one leg over both of hers and his head nestled on her chest. He held onto her securely, peaceful light snoring masking his asphyxiation of her. Her muscles were stiff since she barely could move all night - but she would take the stiffness over the aching any day. When her eyes opened, she instantly felt the pounding of her head once again, the relief sleep gave her gone in a second.

With a great effort, Éponine began to shift beneath her sleeping husband, gently moving his body so as not to wake him. But even in his sleep, as he sensed a change in movement, he gripped her body tighter before he relaxed once again.

She whispered his name, thinking perhaps he was awake, but no sound came from him except his quiet and steady breaths. After another solid minute of staring into the ceiling, she tried again, this time with greater success. She held in a grunt of pain as she finagled her way out of his grasp, feeling a rush of cool air hit her skin the second his body heat was no longer on top of her.

Éponine needed to get away now that she was free. But what was the use of running if only he were to find her again. Surely she remembered the last time she was in this situation. But what was it that Babet said to do? _Find a quiet spot at home, don't leave him._ Yes, should could do that. She didn't have to leave him. But, thinking harder about it, would she ever actually leave him? Did she _want_ to leave him?

For the first time in her life, she didn't know the answer to that. The answer had always been no, but right now, she could not decide what the true answer was. But she knew she could take Babet's advice - that perhaps may have been the only thing she knew right now.

Éponine scooted her aching body to the end of the bed, careful not to shift the bed too much and careful to avoid putting unneeded strain on her limbs. She bit her lip as she slid one foot over the end of the bed and to the floor. With a deep breath now, she slid herself off the bed entirely only to collapse in a heap. Her legs were weak, her body trembling; it seemed that even standing proved to be a difficult task.

So she laid against the floor, the cold wood panels soothing her bare and exposed skin. As she further examined her sore body, she saw how the filth was apparent across her body in bright colors; red, purple, brown. These were the only fireworks she would ever be seeing. She didn't know how long she had been lying there before she tried to sit up once again. This time, she found the strength to walk, to find find any pair of clothes, to put them on, and then to stand in front of the French doors of the bedroom.

She stood staring into the white wonderland in the only clothes she could reach - her flannel pajamas and a pair of Montparnasse's boots that were lying by the foot of the bed. She could sit on the back deck, the calm of the morning would descend on her, the cold would soothe her muscles, ease the swelling. So what was stopping her? Why couldn't she just sit outside? The snow was so breathtaking, just a simple powder that coated her backyard, turning the trees into white statues. It must've snowed overnight since there wasn't this much snow when they drove home last night and even now, it was still snowing.

The snow was beautiful and she loved everything that it had to offer her right now. So, she pulled away the white curtain and opened the sliding glass door, stepping out into the winter wonderland. The wind sliced through her pajamas on the first step, cutting through her bones and escaping past her into the house. She didn't close the door as she stepped forward, sinking a boot down into the powdery snow.

Peacefully, the snow fell from the sky and to the ground around her. She didn't mind the brisk cold or the chilled snowflakes that landed on her flushed skin. Though her world was dreary - just an endless black hole with no way out - it seemed that the actual world was at peace. It was full of white and clean promises. A breath of fresh air that promised hope.

Yet hope for Éponine was just an illusion. She knew that hope was beyond her reach and very well, she knew that she did not deserve that hope.

Slowly, she took her hesitant steps one by one down the back deck and into the deep snow. The weight of the world pressed on her, her thoughts would not let her find a moment's rest. The snow was fitting in her melancholy - perhaps the angels were crying with her.

She took a deep breath, looking straight and determined ahead at the blinding snowflakes.

"As long as he..." she began to sing softly. Her song was no more than a whisper, nothing more than broken words strung together, no melody, no harmony, just whispered words. "...needs me."

Each step through the snow felt as if it took all of her strength. The weight of her thoughts held her to the ground, making each step feel like it was a thousand pounds.

"Oh, yes, he does need me..." Hugging her arms around herself, holding onto the last of her warmth in the biting air, she pressed on.

"In spite of what...you see..."

The blinding snow hit her eyes, reflecting the light of the sun, holding the promise that it will get better for her. But it will only get better if she keeps going. But it's hard to keep going. It's easier to fall. Another trudge through the snow, with the soft crunch of it beneath her. "...I'm sure that he...needs me."

She gazed up toward the sun, only to see a stream of white in her vision. The snow was falling heavier now. The gleam of the sun seemed to be fading.

She shut her eyes, the words failing her - she just couldn't remember them. But what were the lyrics?

"As long as life is long..." she continued in her broken song, knowing the tune was off, knowing those weren't the next words, but knowing they were all she could remember.

The thoughts continued pressing on her, hounding her, haunting her - just like Montparnasse always did. A long life? It seemed pleasant in retrospect. But Éponine wasn't so sure anymore, could she really take a lifetime more of this hell? Could she really live with everything Montparnasse does to her until the day she dies?

The tears were threatening to fall once again and she shook her head, clumps of snowflakes falling from her hair. She wanted to be with him forever, didn't she? Isn't that what it meant to love someone? To be with them even despite the bumps and bruises along the way?

Yes, wasn't that love?

"I'll love him right or wrong..." her discorded voice sang.

Suddenly, her eyes closed and her feet stopped, that same thought running through her mind once again.

If that's what love was, could she really love him the rest of her life?

She doubled over herself, fighting back the sob as hard as she could. "And somehow, I'll be strong..."

Éponine knew she would be. She would love him. "As long as he...needs me."

Like a blow to the head, she felt another surge of thoughts. What if he didn't need her? What if she did really leave him? What if she listened to Babet and Enjolras? She knew they would help her leave, she knew they would support her for a little, at least keep her safe.

Her eyes snapped open.

_Safe. _

She had never used that word before. She had never thought about being _safe_ from Montparnasse. He always loved her, he always protected her, he looked after her, cared for her when no one else did. But plain as day, she knew she ended up hurt by him more times than one, but suddenly, thinking about it logistically...she needed to be _safe _from her own husband?

If that was so, could she really leave him? Was she really strong enough to do that? Was she ready to give up everything she's ever known now that she's learned it's been a lie? She never wanted change, she never asked for change. Yet here it was.

Her body shook from the force of her emotions, never mind the cold.

"If you are lonely..."

And she was. Even when she was with her husband, she was alone.

"Then you will know..."

Her feet tried to move again. She desperately wanted to keep moving, she wanted to keep pressing on, but she couldn't. The wind whipped through her as she stood, huddling into herself, trying to become small and find sense in any part of her life. Her voice was broken now, full of tears and pain, barely audible to anyone if they were listening, "...when someone needs you..."

She sucked in her breath, closing her eyes and letting the tears slip out on her exposed skin. Her voice was growing as she was finding the determination to sing out her feelings. She was singing through the tears now, straining her blurry vision to watch the streaks of white in front of her, not caring how broken her voice was.

"You love them so."

And the realization hit her.

She didn't love him anymore.

Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. She buried her face in her hands letting the sobs rack through her frame. The snow flakes fell steadily, not caring if they covered her as they made their decent to earth. It seemed like an eternity before she found her voice again, even if it was only a whisper. "I won't betray his trust..."

She dropped her head in despair. "Though people say...I must..." Raising her voice a bit higher now, she sang: "I've go...to...stay...true, just..."

She grabbed handfuls of snow in fistfuls. She was shivering and frozen to the bone, teeth clattering, hands red, and lips blue but she didn't care. This was her misery. She held up a fistful of snow and let it trickle to the ground with the rest of the snowfall. "As long as...he...needs me..."

She fell quiet. She listened to the only sound of the snow falling around her and let that be her melody. Tucking her feet to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her knees.

She was giving up.

Shaking her head, her eyes snapped open. "But I don't need him."

It was a strange feeling, a liberating feeling, knowing that she didn't need him in her life. Why couldn't she live on without him? Because really, were her words to him even true? Did she even mean those three little words that she said to him last night? Or were they just used to protect herself and to comfort him? Did the actual love in those words not even exist anymore?

She knew the answer to that question as she wiped away the freezing tears from her eyes.

The love from her heart was gone.

A shape appeared in the distance by the lining of the trees. She squinted her eyes through the blinding snowflakes, struggling to see what the shape was. It was large, seemingly a shadow. She edged herself closer to it in her balled form, tilting her head to the side just to figure out what it was. But yes, it was a creature, one with eyes looming right back at her with the same bewildered expression.

With a careful step, the creature took a step closer and she could see its eyes, its curved snout and slender frame, with small twigs of legs that kept the creature standing proudly in the snow. It was a majestic creature, watching her fondly, silently protecting her. Suddenly its ears perked up like two mountain peeks, but Éponine still watched it mesmerized.

His footsteps were so quiet, she never heard him approach until he had grasped a fistful of her hair and hung her by his arm, toes just scraping the ground.

"'Parnasse," she said breathlessly, taking in the sight of his exposed chest, an open jacket hugging the rest of his frame, pajama pants hanging from his hips, and some kind of shoes buried beneath the foot of snow. She whipped her head back to see the creature again in the lining of the trees and this time, it was gone. There were no footprints left behind by it, nothing except an empty space where the creature once stood.

"What the hell do you think you're doing out here?" he yelled, gaining her attention back.

"I-I thought you were s-sleeping," she replied, her words coming out minced with chattering teeth.

"Someone left the damn door open, idiot." He gave her a shake, already pulling her back toward the house. "What the hell were you thinking? Trying to leave me again? Trying to find a way to get to your precious Enjolras?" Her feet struggled to keep up with him, the oversized boots slugging against the ground as she tried to pick up her feet through the snow.

"No…no, I was just sitting."

"Ha! That's a good one."

Montparnasse tossed Éponine into the house, trailing snow onto the bedroom floor, the boots on her feet thudding as she came to a halt by his hand.

His mind showed him images of Éponine sitting in the snow, gingerly glancing around before he interrupted her reverie. But in the moment he saw her, sitting so helplessly, so feebly, his instincts took over. He didn't know what it was within him or about her - he never knew actually - but there was something that made his hunger for her grow, something that kept him wanting her like a drug. But he wanted to feel her writhe beneath his hand, he wanted to hear the smacks of flesh, her menial hisses and gasps, he wanted to see the fear in her eyes and feel the control dominating his body.

To see her sitting so calm and meek only sent shivers through him, it only ignited this desire, this want of her pain. This, coupled with the sound of another man's name coming from her lips last night, only justified his want.

He tossed her to the ground, a kick landing in her side.

Strangely though, this time she didn't feel it. In fact, she didn't feel any of the hits she received across her face, she didn't feel the smack of his hands against her flesh as he took her across his knee, she didn't feel the thud of her heart nor the pounding of her head against the floor. She felt nothing except the numbness of her body. Her mind was blank, not even letting a whimper escape her throat.

In a way, it was a protection, her mind protecting her from his blows.

She stayed in this trance long after he finished his assault, laying on the floor while he changed his clothes for the day.

On his way out of the room, he spared a glance in her direction. "Éponine," he said.

She didn't answer, instead she stayed motionless, clothes half hanging onto her body, her eyes open but cast to the ground.

"Did you eat anything?"

There was nothing but silence and the gentle hum of heat coming up from the radiator. After an eternity, she slowly shook her head side to side, just once.

"I'll make you something then."

And he left the room.

Walking quietly through the house, Montparnasse entered the kitchen and paused. As much as he tried not to think about his own actions, he was befuddled by them just the same. He debated for a minute about the uncomfortableness in his trousers. He was half-hard and had half a mind to waltz back into the bedroom and pacify the situation. But something in the back of his mind stopped him, he could always take care of it in the bathroom. So he rummaged around the kitchen until he poured a bowl of cereal, added some milk, and left it sitting on the table. Delicately, he folded a napkin and placed a spoon on top of it beside the bowl, all the while, swallowing back a lump that was forming in his throat for some unknown reason.

"Éponine," he said upon peeking his head back into the bedroom.

She still did not move from her position on the floor, and yet her eyes still remained open.

He took steps closer until he was towering above her body, casting his blank eyes upon her. With ease, he bent to the ground and fixed her lopsided shirt, covering up her exposed flesh. He pretended not to notice the way her muscles tensed as he fixed her shirt and smoothed it out. "I left cereal for you in the kitchen," he lowly spoke. "I suggest you go eat it while I finish getting ready for work."

Montparnasse leaned away from her and rose to his feet. Without another word spoken, Éponine struggled to her feet under his watchful gaze.

She didn't look at him while she teetered by him unsteadily and walked out of the room.

"You won't be going to work today," he said, following behind her.

With not so much as a word or a gesture, Éponine fell into the chair at the kitchen table and picked up the spoon.

"Did you hear me?" he asked, voice growing harsher.

"Yes," came her meek reply.

"Then answer me the first time I speak to you."

She flicked the cereal around in the bowl before cautiously taking a spoonful of the flakes, wincing once she did. "I'm sorry," she said, swallowing.

He huffed out a breath, standing a little taller. "When you're finished eating, I want you back in the bedroom. Change your clothes and be waiting on the bed."

"Yes."

He turned sharply and left her alone. She swallowed another bite of cereal, already feeling fear creep up her back once again; her spine tingling, the hot blood in her veins racing.

Éponine was tired. She was ready to give up her fight, ready to just give in to all of her husbands demands, save herself from the torture and just listen to him. She was tired of fearing him, tired of hurting. She just didn't want to feel anymore, or more importantly, hurt.

So that was it, right? She was just giving up.

Or perhaps she would just give in for now. Just until she could find a way to really escape. A little smile fell across her lips as she swallowed a bite of cereal. She could play the good wife for now, just long enough anyway...just until she could escape. Once he left for work. Yes, yes. She could do this.

She wouldn't give up, she would just give in.

Yet the time came too soon when she finished her food, placed the bowl in the sink and meandered her way back to the bedroom. With any remnants of a smile gone from her face entirely, she walked to the bedroom, hearing the sink running as she passed the bathroom in the hallway. She would do what he wanted regardless of anything, no questions asked.

Once she had on a comfortable pair of sweatpants and a light long-sleeved shirt, she got up onto the bed and waited cross-legged for his return. Judging from the clock on the nightstand, only fifteen minutes had gone by when he walked into the room, one hand behind his back.

Immediately, she sat up a little taller, attention peeked and heartbeat climbing.

"You understand, 'Ponine, right?" he asked, taking a stance beside the bed, carefully concealing whatever was behind him. She quirked a brow, tilting her head to the side. "I can't let Babet back here again, and obviously you can't be left alone..." he said, drawling out the last word. "So come on, put your hands together, out in front of you."

Hesitantly, she did, wrists touching together.

Then slowly, from behind his back, he pulled out a large silver roll of duct tape. He peeled off the edge of it with his nail and ripped a line of tape down. Holding it between his teeth, he ripped the piece off and then grabbed Éponine's wrists.

Her eyes were wide with terror. "Please, don't - "

"Don't talk," he snapped, coiling the tape tightly around her wrists until they were bound tightly. He thought for a moment once the task was completed and looked at the wooden headboard. Suddenly, he came up with a solution. Clearing the pillow out of the way, he laid Éponine down on her side with her arms raised in front of her face. Coiling the tape vertically around her wrists, he attached a long string of it to the corner bedpost and wrapped it round and round the wood, securely taping it off.

"Now go ahead, give a little pull," he instructed.

She swallowed back the fear and did as he said, her wrists not budging from the tape chain.

"'Parnasse...I can't - "

"I said don't talk."

Biting the inside of her cheek, she held in a breath, her panic rising as she desperately tried to keep her fear hidden from him.

He gave a smirk before he chuckled slightly. "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back."

Leaving the bedroom door ajar, he left a panic-stricken Éponine and returned a few moments later with a spoon and a bottle of NyQuil. He stood in front of her once again and poured out a spoonful of the liquid. "Open," he said, holding the spoon by her lips.

"'Parna - "

He cut her off, shoving the spoon into her mouth and knocking it backward. Instantly, he smushed her mouth closed until she swallowed.

"Again," he demanded, already pouring another spoonful. He didn't give her a chance to respond before he forcefully pushed the spoon back into her mouth. He did it one more time before he closed up the bottle and placed it on the nightstand. "Be a good girl now and go to sleep." With a sly tilt of his head and a little smile, he stroked her hair behind her ear and bent down to give her temple a kiss. "I'll be home by six thirty and then we'll start dinner."

"'Parnasse!" she begged as he took a step back from her and tightened his tie up to his neck. "Please, you can't leave me here all day."

"You'll be fine once the medication starts working. Don't worry, okay? Bye, 'Ponine." He hummed to himself as he grabbed the cordless phone from the stand and snapped a watch on his wrist. With one last smirk, he glanced her way, reveling for just a moment at his handiwork. She looked beautiful all tied up, all safe and secure with no possible way to leave him.

It was just precaution, he told himself - a precaution that left his mind at ease.

"'Parnasse! Please!" she cried out. "Don't leave me - "

"I know, baby. I wish I didn't have to leave you either, but I've got to go to work. The day will fly by...just watch." He gave one last adjustment to the tie on his neck and grinned. "Have a good day." And with that, he shut the bedroom door behind him, ignoring her cries and pleas, and left the house for work.

So much for her plan.

...

He never understood the fascination with Boston. It was one thing he never minded leaving when his life was turned upside down. But now here he was again, on a train headed back into the heart of a city he never cared for.

With his headphones in, Imagine Dragons on loud, and a small sketchpad on his lap, he tried to block out every other annoying person seated beside him. It was just the weekend in Boston, right? He could deal with this. He'd go see his sisters, meet this mysterious affair slash bartender, give that certain black-haired scoundrel a good talking to, and be home before school started on Monday. Yeah, it'd be an easy weekend.

Carefully glancing upwards to look at the old woman seated across from him, he made a mental note of the way her lips pouted as she clutched her pocketbook and stared out the window. Darting his eyes back to his drawing, he adjusted the lips on his portrait just so, subtly shifting his leg to securely move the sketchpad from her vision. He licked his finger and smudged the creases on her coat in his drawing, shading it in just right.

Suddenly, the train dinged and the brakes applied, forcing him forward just slightly. In an instant, he had his sketchpad tucked away in his backpack and was standing by the door, waiting for it to slid open.

As he stepped off the train, he followed the crowd from the platform, nonchalantly glancing his head around but doing his best to look like he knew where he was going.

"Gav!" he heard from somewhere far off.

Snapping his head left and right, he finally saw his sister. Standing in front of the open driver's side door, Azelma waved her arms furiously, waiting for him to notice. As he approached her, they both clambered into the little blue Altima and he tossed his backpack into the backseat. Then, without wasting a second, Azelma had her arms around Gavroche in a strong hug.

He grunted slightly to show his annoyance in the gesture, but he didn't dare tell her to get off. Instead, once she was finished, he shifted minutely closer to the door and away from her.

"So, how have you been? Was your train ride in good?" she asked, eager for answers.

"Yeah, all good 'Zel."

She started up the car again and pulled out into traffic, continually glancing over at her brother while she spoke. "Great, great. I'm so happy Marius and Cosette were okay with you coming on short notice. But I'm so happy you're here."

"Yup."

"They didn't give you any problems, right? Or did you tell them about what I've suspected with Éponine?"

"Nope. Didn't tell them anything."

"Okay..." She paused, thinking over the next thing she wanted to say. "What did you tell them though?"

He shrugged. "Just came to see you guys."

"And they bought it?"

"Yup."

She opened her mouth to say something else and then realized she had nothing to say.

"Where are we going?" he suddenly asked.

"To my house, but I think we'll stop by the bar first so you can meet Enjolras." She looked straight ahead, avoiding his eyes this time.

"Ah," he responded knowingly. "What about 'Ponine? When are we seeing her?"

"To be honest, I haven't figured that one out yet. Oh but you can also meet Courf! I know you'll love him. But yeah, so I thought after we talked with Enjolras, we could figure something else out - "

"Something else?"

"Well, like a way to see her. I don't really just want to show up at her house unannounced. I just don't know about Montparnasse...what he'd do..."

"Gotcha...it's cool." Gavroche sighed, folding his arms across his chest as he finally pulled one earbud from his ear. "So, Enjolras...him and Éponine...they're like a thing? He knows she's married, right?"

Azelma hissed out a breath, subconsciously tightening her grip on the steering wheel. "Gav...don't be saying things like that. That's not what it is."

"Then _what_ is it?"

She rubbed her forehead roughly, messing up the pieces of her bangs. "Friends. Okay? I don't know. But just let it be. That's not what matters in any of this."

He gritted his teeth, once again suppressing the growing anger inside of him. "Alright then," he huffed. "Let's go meet this douche."

...

Drifting in and out, the day ebbed away. One would think a day of resting might soothe her aching muscles, but not in this case. For Éponine, all day in the same position left her arms burning.

At some point early in the day, Éponine tried to pull against the tape, hoping it might give or hoping her hands could slip from its clutches, but her continual efforts only knocked her unbalanced, off the bed, and to the floor. The fall was what hurt the worst as her arms had twisted in awkward angles and her head fell against the nightstand. She ached too much to even move and by that point, she had been so tired that she fell asleep, knees beneath her, head finding comfort on the side of the mattress, and hands still strung up to the bedpost.

For hours she stayed like that until late in the afternoon as she drifted back to consciousness, she found the strength to stand up and fall back onto the bed. The second her head made contact with the pillows, sleep overtook her once again. The only bad thing about this new predicament was that she had no time to fathom a new plan, this sleep made her delirious, made her head pound and her eyes droop into inevitable blackness.

Could she still do this? Could she still give in? Perhaps that was all she could do now.

What awoke her at present was the sound of tape tearing. Her eyes snapped open and there was her husband, white shirt half open and trousers held up by a belt, steadily snipping away at the tape that bound her.

"I got you dinner," he said by way of noticing her now open eyes. "It's in the kitchen." He made another snip with the scissors until her hands fell away from the bedpost. "Brujon and Claquesous are here as well," he stated, grabbing hold of her forearm and prying the tape from her bound wrists. "They met me after work and we picked up some food." He peeled the tape away completely, revealing sharp red indentations along her wrists. Pursing his lips at the sight, he then frowned. "I didn't know it was going to leave a mark." With a small kiss to each of her wrists, he gave her a kind smile.

Éponine sat shock-still, not at all going to remove her hands from his. Her terrified eyes adjusted to the dimly lit room and focused away from his face to see the clock on the nightstand. It read 7:36. He had told her 6:30 when he left this morning. Thus, her heart sank a little further, but honestly, there was no more room for it to sink anymore. She should've expected this from him anyway, because really now, why should she trust anything he says?

"Come," he said, snaking his arm around her waist to help her to her feet. "I know you're hungry." He smoothed her hair back behind her ear and pulled her close to his body, lips instinctively running along her neck and jawline. She tripped over her feet as he pulled her along toward the living room.

As soon as her presence entered the room, the two men on the couch smiled maliciously at her. Montparnasse tightened his grip on her, smirking to them and still pressing kisses to her cheek as he scooted on by. Once both of their backs had turned, only then could the men notice the way Montparnasse's hand trailed lower down her back, moving like a serpent, until it was sensually stroking her rear.

Montparnasse let her take a seat in the kitchen as he set out some of the food onto a plate before her. "I got you fried rice since I know you like that better than white," he stated, not even glancing over at her. He pulled a small white container from the paper bag and placed it by her plate. "Here's some chicken lo mein. A few egg rolls...take what you want, I'll be in the living room."

One final kiss on the top of her head and he scurried from the kitchen.

With a plop, he found himself in the chair alongside the couch once again. "I don't know," he whispered, rubbing his hand down his face. "I've got to figure something else out."

"What do you mean?" Brujon asked.

Montparnasse lifted his head, peering behind him and knowing Éponine was in ear shot. "Éponine," he called. "Tell me when you're finished eating. Then I want you to take a shower." He waited until he heard her soft agreement and then turned back to the two men on the couch.

"Wow," Brujon said. "What the hell happened between last night and today? It's like a freaking TPE. How the hell you manage that?"

Montparnasse thought it over for a minute, debating the notion. "I guess it could be." He scoffed. "Or maybe she's just _finally_ learned her place. She hasn't fought me on anything all day."

"And she's listened to you?"

"My word is law."

There wasn't much else to say to that and so the three men engaged in harmless conversation for the next twenty minutes about work, the snow, football, and what Babet was probably up to right now.

"Probably getting high again somewhere," Claquesous said with a shrug. "He came home this morning, eyes bloodshot, pale as a ghost. The guy looks like the walking dead."

"Good for him," Montparnasse sneered. "I don't want him around me _or_ Éponine again."

Brujon grinned along with Montparnasse until suddenly, his eyes turned upwards and he stared behind Montparnasse. Alerted, Montparnasse turned his head around just in time to see Éponine whip her eyes to the floor, standing awkwardly in the doorway of the living room.

"I'm finished," she whispered.

"Good, go take a shower," her husband ordered, eyes narrowing at her even if she couldn't see them.

She nodded and took a step toward the hallway.

"'Ponine," Brujon said, interrupting her and patting his thigh. "Come here, girl."

She gulped and dared her eyes over to Montparnasse, checking for his approval first. But Montparnasse was not looking her way, instead he glared perplexed at his friend. Timidly, she did as she was told and walked over to Brujon but didn't dare to sit down no matter how hard he patted his thigh.

No matter, Brujon clasped her hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. "What a good girl you've become. Hope that 'Parnasse has rewarded you."

Her fingers trembled but she neither pulled from his grasp nor embraced him. Instead, she kept hold of Brujon's hand and glanced over her shoulder to Montparnasse who was slowly getting riled up by the scene unfolding in front of him.

Yet, Brujon continued on under his friend's stare, leaning froward on the couch and beckoning Éponine closer with an index finger. "But I want you to know...if he doesn't, then you come find me, okay? I'll reward you."

"Éponine!" Montparnasse barked, causing the young woman to flinch. "Shower! Now!"

She scampered away from them as fast as lighting, the sound of the bathroom door slamming shut ringing through the house.

"The hell!?" Montparnasse flared, rising to his feet and stalking closer to Brujon. "The hell was that?"

"What? I was just having some fun. No harm done, 'Parnasse, just take a seat."

Even Claquesous shrunk back in his seat, scared to death of an angry Montparnasse, knowing exactly what the young man could do if given half a chance.

"Don't touch her, you understand me? She's not yours. She's mine. _Mine._" He pointed to his chest for emphasis. With two looming steps, Montparnasse stood above Brujon, breath coating his face. "Pull something like that again, and I won't think twice about sending you out as well."

"God," Brujon groaned, hands up in defense. "It was just some fun." He watched as Montparnasse slowly backed away and fell back in his chair, now with an air of anger inside of him. "Jesus, never did understand what you had against sharing."

"I said, _she's mine. _Or did you not hear me the first time I said it? I don't want another man to look at her, not even think about her. She _belongs_ to me."

"You've never gotten this mad before. Sure all this isn't just because of that Enjolras guy?"

Montparnasse's eyes blazed. "Don't you ever say that name in this house. That man deserves to be castrated."

"And how you plan to do that?"

Pausing, Montparnasse waited to hear the sound of the running water, knowing only then that Éponine couldn't hear their voices. "I don't know yet..." he said in a much quieter voice. "But when I get my hands on him..." He scoffed to himself, hands already forming a circle around an imaginary neck. "I might forget to let him breathe."

"She won't find out, right?"

"God no," he sighed. "But she'll get it once I find out the full truth from her little lover. But that goes back to what I was saying earlier. I can't let her out of the house. He's gonna find her, or she'll find him. I can't risk that. And I can't watch her, I've got to work - "

"You could always call Babet," Brujon smiled.

The only reply to that was a scowl. "I don't have anyone to watch her during the day. Today I taped her to the bed."

"And how did that work?"

"Fine I guess, but I just...it just...I don't know, I don't want to do it again."

"Why don't you just give her a rufie?" Claquesous suggested. "She'll be out for most of the day...I think like ten to twelve hours and won't even remember anything when she wakes up."

"A rufie?" Montparnasse repeated, contemplating it. "How would I get 'em?"

"I know a guy," Claquesous replied with a shrug.

"Now that's not a bad idea," Brujon said, adding in his own opinion.

Claquesous tossed his head back on the couch, shutting his eyes for a moment. "Just give 'em to her for a few days, just until you can change the locks and add a security system, then you won't have to worry about any of that anymore."

"That's..." Montparnasse said, drawling back on his thought as he steepled two fingers against his lips. "That could work. And...you two'd help me with the Enjolras situation, right? Help me find him?"

"'Course, man."

With a smirk, Montparnasse rose to his feet. "Good."

"Wait, where you going?" Brujon questioned, brow raised.

"She touched you, remember?" He gave a sadistic smile with a small shake of his head. "That's not allowed..."

Brujon smirked and a little chuckle escaped his lips while Montparnasse silently headed toward the bathroom with a broad smile dawning across his features.

* * *

**A/N: ****We're in the home stretch for this story! I'm dying to know how you guys are feeling right about now…Any questions, comments, confusions, please let me know!**


	28. Of Holding Back and Holding On

**A/N: So, it's March 13, 2015. That means it's been a year since I first uploaded this story as a OneShot. In honor of being one year old, I thought I'd celebrate with a chapter. **

**For this chapter, we get to see the all the other characters that I've neglected for awhile. Hope this one isn't too boring and I hope it makes you a bit excited for what will come next. SPOILERS: The next and final two chapters will have your heart racing…hopefully anyway…if I can write them well ****enough anyway.**

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Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 28 - Of Holding Back and Holding On

...

"So what do you want to drink...or eat really? It is dinner time, isn't it. Well, it doesn't matter. Hey, you know what? I can even buy a _drink_ drink and keep it in front of me, but you can have it. That's something a cool big sis would do, right? Ha, see...I can be a cool big sis."

"No one said you weren't, 'Zel," Gavroche groaned, falling back against the bar chair and sighing, the idle bar chatter filling in the growing silence between them. He wasn't trying to be such a prude, but he couldn't help it, he couldn't even act nice if he wanted to in this moment - pent up anger, vexed feelings, it all came out now that he was seeing his sister again for the first time in years. And all the while, she just droned on cheerily as if no time had ever passed, as if they were just kids again, sneaking around town after school getting a soda or candy. He nearly chuckled to himself. _Time's sure have changed, haven't they?_

"Well what do you want? Anything you want. It's on me," she prattled on in the seat beside him. "We can get dinner here too or somewhere else if you'd prefer..."

"Whatever."

The way her face suddenly fell, even Gavroche had to admit it hurt a little. He didn't do it deliberately, but the words just came out with the attitude already laced in them.

Azelma dropped her face back to the menu, eyes losing their sparkle by the second. "I was just trying," she whispered.

Closing his eyes in contemplation and heaving another sigh, Gavroche leaned forward across the counter next to her. "Sorry," he offered, the words still coming out bitter. "Sprite," he said and then she looked at him with the corners of her mouth twisting up.

"Seven and Seven?"

"Just Sprite."

With a defeated but contented sigh, Azelma looked ahead to behind the bar, watching to see if she saw either Enjolras or Courfeyrac. Her whole face lit up when she saw those familiar faces - one of whom always made her smile.

"Oh, look, there's Courf. Let me introduce you," Azelma said, bouncing slightly in her seat like a child. "Courf! Come here!" she shouted across the bar.

Suddenly, the attention of the brown-haired man turned their way and his knitted brow expression transformed into a smile. "Hey, 'Zel!" he called out, making his way over to them. The blonde bartender had looked their way at the same time, but he flitted a brief smile before returning his attention back to a customer's drink.

Visibly, Azelma's whole demeanor excited as her boyfriend swayed closer to her. Gavroche could sense the change in the atmosphere, her air of excitement now turning to giddiness and he loathed her at how happy she was.

"How are you, babe?" Courfeyrac asked with a peck on her cheek. He leaned away from her revealing her rosy red cheeks and the sparkle in her eye that seemed to reappear like magic.

"Good, good. But look, this is my brother, the one I've told you so much about. Courfeyrac, this is Gavroche." She held her palm out towards her brother as if showcasing him her her boyfriend.

"Hey, kiddo," Courfeyrac said with an outstretched hand.

In response, Gavroche eyed him up and down with a look of disgust. "Kiddo? I'm not twelve."

"Whoa, sorry," Courfeyrac relented. "I didn't mean it like that - "

"Gavroche," Azelma scolded. "Be nice."

The younger of them huffed out a breath and rolled his eyes. "Nice to meet you," he forcibly responded. "Can't say I've heard much about you though."

The little dig of the knife cut Azelma deep, a small wince eliciting from her muscles just from his words alone. Air seemed to evaporate from between them, forcing their words away as each struggled for something to say next.

"You're a bartender here then?" Gavroche continued.

"Yup, worked here a few years now."

"Cool, I'll take a Sprite and a burger, medium. And sautéed onions if you've got 'em."

Azelma shut her eyes for a moment and glared at her brother upon opening them. "Gavroche - "

"Nah, it's cool, 'Zelma," Courfeyrac interrupted. "It's my job." He sucked in a small breath to hide the wound of his words and looked at Gavroche fully with a smile. "Cheese too?"

Gavroche grinned. "Cheddar." And Azelma let out an irritated exhale.

"Relax," Courfeyrac chided in a whisper, grabbing Azelma's hand and rubbing his thumb along the back of it lightly. "And what can I get you, babe? The usual drink? Or something a little more exotic today?"

A smile returned to Azelma's face from the mere contact of Courfeyrac's hand alone. "What kind of exotic?" she smirked.

"Hey," a breathless voice said, distracting the couple from their little display of affection.

Immediately, all three looked up to see the blonde bartender, hair a touch disheveled and red vest hanging slightly crooked on his broad chest.

"Oh, Enjolras!" Azelma nearly squealed. "This is my younger brother, Gavroche. He just turned eighteen - "

"That means he's not a kid," Courfeyrac finished with a small wink at the younger man.

Yet, Gavroche remained unamused and fixed his glare on Enjolras.

"Nice to meet you," Enjolras started. "I'm Enjolras, your sisters' friend - "

A sharp scoff from Gavroche cut Enjolras off. "_Friend_? You're shitting me, right?"

"Gavroche!" Azelma scolded, yet again. "Language."

The blonde gaped, perplexed and astonished at the audacity of the teen. "I'm..." he said, struggling for words. "I mean...Well, yeah, I'm both of your sisters' friend."

"Whatever," Gavroche said, puffing out a breath of air upwards so that it blew his light brown hair out of his face.

As Gavroche sat back and sulked in his chair, Azelma took charge of the conversation. She sat up a little straighter and locked eyes with the blonde. "I think I'm ready to go to the police, Enj."

His eyes widened momentarily and he leaned the bulk of his weight on the counter in front of him, fingers spreading apart. "You think so?"

Slouching down a little at his question, she gave a small shrug. "Well, yeah, I've been talking with Courf the past week about it. I think it's time. I really..." she sighed, "I honestly just can't take the worry that something bad is happening to her and we haven't done anything. I just want to see her."

"I know," Enjolras conceded. "I think we've waited long enough. And this time, I have her address - "

"You have her address? How - When? When did you get it? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

"Christmas day, when she came over...right before I called you. It just slipped my mind while I was on the phone with you, I guess."

"You're an idiot, Enj, but I love you! Ah! Yay, let's go." She wiggled in her seat, all ready to slip from the chair and forgo dinner for a trip to the police station.

Gavroche fisted his hands before finally slamming a fist down on the counter, causing the other three to look his way. "Bullshit!" he snapped. "You all don't think I really know what's going on here? God! I'd have to be blind to miss it! God! I just...I can't believe this..." In one swift movement, he had his chair pushed back and was on his feet. He met Enjolras' eyes darkly and with a vexed breath he spoke: "That's low, man. Real low. That's _my_ sister! That's Éponine! But I guess I shouldn't expect anything less from some asshole bartender."

"Gav, what are you talking about?" Azelma asked, embarrassment for his actions leaking in through her words. Yet, he ignored her, stalking off and out of the doors of the the Musain. She looked back worriedly at the two men and apologized. "I really don't know why he's acting like that. I should go talk to him."

She began to move out of her chair but Enjolras stopped her. "If you don't mind, maybe I can try to talk to him. His anger seemed to be at me, not you. Maybe it was something that I did."

Azelma only shrugged "I don't know." But she relented. "You can try, I guess, but come get me if he still won't talk."

It didn't take long for Enjolras to place his rag under the counter, put on his black pea coat and take his fifteen minute break a little early. He walked down the block, looking both ways to see if there was any teenage boy in sight. Picking right first, Enjolras kept his eyes peeled as he slowly walked along, nerves shooting through him like fire.

Finally, his heart nearly skipped when he recognized the light brown mop of hair sitting on a sidewalk bench facing a Dunkin' Donuts. His head perked up and eyes narrowed as he saw Enjolras approach.

"Can't you just leave me alone?" Gavroche deadpanned as Enjolras took a cautious seat beside him.

"Look," Enjolras began, rubbing his chin. "I'm sorry if there was something I said...or did - "

"You really are stupid, aren't you?"

The blonde winced a little as a sudden fit of anger engulfed him. He was trying to be civil but this kid had another thing coming with that smart mouth of his. Fingers clenched beside him, his heart rate began to increase. "Enough with the crap, kid, I'm done trying to be nice. I don't care if you're Éponine's brother or not, you don't get to talk to me like that or treat your sister that way."

"Seriously?" Gavroche flared, eyes setting aflame. "You seriously are going to tell _me _how I can and can't talk. So what? Just because you're banging my sister, that makes you my dad?"

Enjolras sat taken aback, anger momentarily dissipating. "What did you just say?"

"Oh, don't play dumb with me. I can put two and two together. I realized what was happening the second Azelma mentioned you. For God's sake, just leave Éponine alone. She doesn't need you in her life." Rising to his feet, Gavroche turned to walk away but Enjolras grabbed his arm to make him face him. "Don't touch me!" Gavroche berated, shaking Enjolras off of him.

"Just tell me what you realized," he said, taking a step back, adding some distance between them.

Gavroche whipped around, eye level with Enjolras, the only contrast was the size of their frames. Where Gavroche was much more lean and tall, Enjolras was more broad and muscular.

"It's obvious! Anyone with eyes can see it. This whole thing is just a ploy to get Éponine divorced from Montparnasse. Azelma always hated him, bet it didn't take much to convince her to be on your side."

_Don't tell me he doesn't believe in abuse either, _Enjolras suddenly realized, trying to fit together what on earth he was talking about. "I haven't convinced Azelma of anything. What do you mean?"

"Ha!" Gavroche laughed, rolling his eyes back and running a hand through his hair. "Since you're so inept at understanding, let me paint you a picture of how I'm sure it went down. You probably met Éponine bartending or some other shit like that. You liked her, you fucked her and then you've probably been planning to get her away from Montparnasse since then. You want her for herself. My only question is why she would cheat. She loves Montparnasse, always had, unless I guess things have changed." He waved his hand as if banishing the idea. "Like I would know, it's not like they talk to me. So anyway, I bet you saw them one day, saw how rough Montparnasse can be. News flash, that's just him! You'd be like that too if you were raised in the filth where we grew up. Well, I bet you decided that Éponine can divorce on grounds of abuse. So you got your friend's help, you got Azelma's help and now you're ready to send Montparnasse to jail and what? You think I'm gonna help too? Think I'll testify for her...for _you_?"

"Gavro - "

"Well, hell no, I won't. Montparnasse saved my life! He saved all of our lives. Just 'cause Azelma refuses to see that, just because she hates him, it doesn't change the fact that the only reason I've had half of a good childhood was because of him. God! Why can't you just leave them alone? They're happily married, I'm sure they don't bother anyone, why you gotta go and screw that all up?"

People on the street stopped and lifted their heads at the altercation before them, some pausing to watch a moment longer as they strode into the coffee shop, but no one said anything, no one did anything, they all just watched - because that's what people do, they just watch without a word.

"You've got it all wrong," Enjolras growled, white air puffing out of his mouth like dragon's breath while he steeled his eyes at a pausing patron. His glare alone was enough to get them scampering away. "That's not anywhere close to the truth," he said upon resting his eyes back on Gavroche.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Yeah, well, you want to know what really happened? Éponine and I are friends, I swear on my life. I've never touched her. I can't even touch her, she won't let me."

Gavroche minutely calmed down at hearing that revelation.

"Wonder why she won't let me touch her?" Enjolras pressed.

"Duh, 'cause she's married?"

Enjolras scowled. "Because he hurts her. Because she's been hurt her whole life."

"You're just drawing conclusions, how would you know?"

"Because she told me!"

Gavroche took a step back, eyebrows knitting together. "She _told_ you?"

"Yes, Éponine told me what Montparnasse does to her, I've seen the scars and the bruises."

With an eye roll, Gavroche blew out a breath and turned to walk away again. "Then I know you're lying. Éponine doesn't confide in anyone. She never has and I bet she never will."

Enjolras skipped a step to follow in pace with him. "I'm not lying. She didn't willingly open up to me, it took some coaxing," he admitted. "But then she told me a lot, she told me what I needed to know."

"There's nothing you _need_ to know," Gavroche snapped back. "It was just what you _wanted_ to know, just so that you could get her away from Montparnasse, just so she could divorce him."

"My goal has been to keep her safe."

"Sure, sure..." he scoffed, walking a bit faster as he crossed the street, no destination in mind. "You just want in her pants and the only way you'll get that is if she divorces. My theory still stands."

"That's not true. Her home life with her husband isn't safe, I just want to help her."

"No, you want to nail her."

"No, Gavroche - "

"No!" The younger stopped on a dime, curtly turning to Enjolras and pointing his finger at him. "Don't lie to me and tell me you don't want that. Every guy wants her. And _you_, you're a single bartender with a dick. Why wouldn't you want her?"

It was a low blow and Enjolras' lip rose in disgust. "If you don't want to help your own sister, then fine, she doesn't need you. But I am not about to stand by with all of my facts in order, with her sister's help, and with her address in my pocket and let her _suffer_ by the hands of her husband any longer. I'm done being a bystander and I'm done worrying if she's going to live each night. So you know what? Why don't you do us all a favor and go back home. Go back to New Hampshire, back to your nice rich adoptive family, go to college and just pretend everything is okay. We don't. Need you."

With a shove past Gavroche, Enjolras turned in the opposite direction; hard scowl on his face and hands pushed deep into his pockets.

"Hey," Gavroche called right as Enjolras reached the end of the block.

"What?" he bit back, not turning his head.

"How did you know I was from New Hampshire?"

A bitter laugh escaped his lips dryly. "Because she _told_ me. She told me a lot about you." His feet began walking forward once again before the flashing red hand appeared, he didn't look back and didn't even bother pausing to wait for him.

So, Gavroche stood alone, eyes wide and fear far-reaching, as Enjolras and his black coat disappeared down the block in the sundown, further and further out of sight.

...

When Enjolras told Azelma about his plans to head to the police station the next morning, he asked her to accompany her. She wanted to...it was just...Gavroche wanted to go home, no explanation, no reason, nothing but a simple: "Because I hate Boston!"

And so, Saturday morning rolled around and Azelma took Gavroche back to the train station to end his trip early. Her younger brother had hurt her deeply, but still, she knew that he had hurt Éponine worse by choosing to ignore her.

In Enjolras' mind it was settled, come Sunday morning, he was going to the police station with or without Azelma. It didn't matter if there was going to be a snowstorm, a deep freeze, a freak tropical hurricane, or even an alien attack, nothing was going to stop him from going to tell the police about Éponine.

He sauntered up to the grand brown building, the large clock on the tower reading one-fifteen, he took a deep breath and walked inside. Met with an onslaught of gruff police, Enjolras didn't know what to do first exactly. But casting aside all thought, he waltzed up to the main desk that stretched nearly a mile long, placed Éponine's delicately written address onto the counter, produced a post-it with her house phone number, and then opened up his phone to one of the only two photos he had of her.

His phone illuminated the picture of Éponine standing by herself - clad in her signature white pea coat - in front of the Bobby Orr statue at the TD Garden. That hockey game with her was one of his favorite memories of her, one he'd cherish forever, and one that brought up too many emotions to fully relive.

"Her name is Éponine Moreaux and I have reason to believe that her husband is abusing her." It was a simple sentence that had run through his mind countless times on the drive over, but now that he said it out loud, even he was doubting the legitimacy.

"You have proof?" the round police officer asked.

"She told me."

"That's a big accusation, son."

Enjolras fiddled with his fingers. Why in the world was he so nervous? He had no reason to be. He should be cheering, he was finally helping, right? "It's not a lie," he replied.

"Where is she now?" the officer asked, picking up Enjolras' phone to get a better look at her picture.

"I'm not too sure," he confessed, eyes shifting down to stare at her handwriting. "I haven't seen her since the day of New Year's Eve. But since Thursday I called her house phone each day - twice yesterday - and there's been no answer. I went by her job yesterday around noon and her boss told me that she hasn't shown up for work in three days. No phone calls, no emails, she just hasn't shown up. There is something wrong."

The officer nodded, for the first time actually looking any bit interested in what Enjolras had to say. "If you could please fill out a report with your information," he said, gathering a clipboard and some papers from behind the desk before handing them over. "I'd like to make a copy of this photo to give to some of our officers and we'll get two guys to go over there and check out the scene. Then, we'll give you a call a let you know anything we find out."

Enjolras' eyes scanned the papers in front of him. "But what should I do in the meantime?"

The plump officer shrugged with a sympathetic smile. "You've done what you could. Just sit tight. And if she calls you or you get in touch with her anyway, let us know."

So that was it, one thirty-five and Enjolras was leaving the police station now with a sadder and heavier heart than before. He was so hopeful for things to work out, but now, why did he feel even worse than before he entered the building? Maybe it was because he felt like he really didn't help Éponine at all.

There had to be more he could do, right?

Well, Enjolras waited by his phone all day, the little device not leaving his side for even a second. Every ping and buzz from his friends only shot his hope down each time. At night, he slept with his phone on loud right by his ear - just in case. And it was, Sunday turned into Monday and Monday turned into Tuesday and still there was no call from the police.

On Wednesday, Enjolras finally called them and after telling them it wasn't a life-threatening emergency at the moment, he was put on hold for the next half hour until his patience disintegrated like a fuse and blew up. His knuckles bled from how hard he hit the wall, but hey, at least his hand didn't break, right?

Wednesday turned to Thursday and on Thursday, Enjolras heart skipped a beat when he received a call from the police.

"We went to her house yesterday," an officer began.

"Yesterday?" Enjolras interrupted, anger rising as he spit out a mouthful of his morning coffee. He went to the cops on Sunday. _Sunday_!

"That is correct. Yesterday at six, two officers knocked on the door, no answer. The house was quiet with only the kitchen light on. After checking the premises, they secured the area, there was nothing there that was seen as a threat." He sounded like he was reading as he spoke. "There was a white Lexus in the driveway covered in snow. The two officers determined that no one was home and they would try again in another day or two. That is all the information we have at the moment."

"What about his job? Did you send an officer to his job? Did you even look up her husband for previous crimes? You can't - that can't just be it."

"Sir, we are doing everything we can at the moment. Once we can determine that her life may be at risk, then we will turn over the case to Adult Protective Services."

"No, no! There has to be something else. Her car was there, she has to be home!"

"Please, sir, calm down. We are doing what we can and it would be best for you to just let us do our job."

He had hung up after that, beyond infuriated and ready to lash out at another wall.

Nevertheless though, Thursday turned to Friday.

Another trip to Attorney Gallagher's office at ten in the morning on Friday and Enjolras was only met with a look of contempt. "You're here more than she is," was the answer he received over a desk of strewn papers, half a styrofoam cup of coffee, and a discombobulated attorney. "I'm a very patient man, Mr. Enjolras, but she must know that her actions will have consequences. I need an assistant in order to work - in order to run my business. How can I do that if she won't come in? This is going on over a week now and it might be time to look for someone new. Feel free to pass that message along if you see her."

Regretfully, Enjolras thanked him and tried just one menial attempt. "Wherever she is, I'm sure she has good reason."

"If it's a good reason, then she can call and tell me it."

That comment was enough to send Enjolras storming from the building without even so much as a goodbye. He wanted to tell Mr. Gallagher what was going on but it wasn't his news to tell, it was her own private life, one he just happened to know the secrets to. He already felt guilty for going to the police behind her back, so he couldn't go behind her back with her boss now too.

After grabbing a quick lunch that he barely tasted, Enjolras went to work, his heart aching, his mind heavy, and his hope dwindling faster and faster.

...

"I've missed this," she said softly.

The cold air rushed by them, sweeping their hair back as they gingerly strolled down the block. In the small windstorm, Musichetta took a step closer to Joly and wrapped herself beneath his arm, snuggling up against him to protect herself from the wind.

"Cold?" he asked playfully.

She nodded in return, engulfing his scent that she had missed for far too long.

"We're almost at the Musain, don't worry."

They walked on peacefully, Joly's gloved hands stroking the material of Musichetta's jacket while she hugged herself closer to him each time a step took her even a fraction apart from him. Musichetta kept close watch at what was in front of them, careful not to accidentally bump into anyone as they walked huddled together. A few homeless men lined the streets every block or so and each time, she cast a sympathy gaze down to them, but this one man she saw sitting in a heap at the side of the building had her eyes bulging.

This poor man was as pale as a ghost, his clothes were torn but not worn, giving them a fresh appearance despite the rips. His eyes were as red as his nose which dripped mucous - which Musichetta hoped - was due to the cold. Around his left eye was a deep black rim and similarly the blackness swarmed on his arms and part of his exposed chest. In all though, she recognized him, minus the reflected colors that spewed across his face the last time she saw him.

She peeled herself away from Joly, staring intently at the man.

"Hey," she said to him as if he were an old friend, but still approached him cautiously.

"Musichetta - " Joly said, silencing himself before he spoke without a filter. Refusing to help was what caused the fight between them in the first place. So this time, he stayed quiet and he let his girlfriend approach the filth-ridden man.

"Hey," she said again, voice much softer and kinder.

The man looked up to her with a curious expression, furrowing his brows. "C-can I help you?" his raspy voice asked.

She squatted down in front of him, Joly right at her heels, placing a hand on her shoulder as if asking her not to get too close. "Don't you remember me? I ran into you the night of the fireworks, New Year's Eve?"

For a moment, his brows stayed knitted together as he waited for the dizziness to pass before he focused his vision on her again. "Yeah, yeah," he mused. "I r-remember now," he said, smiling.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," he said again, waving a shaky hand in front of her face. "It's just...just my friend..."

Musichetta shook her head, not needing any further explanation. "Don't worry. Why don't you come with me? I'll get you something hot to drink. That's the least I can do for you. You've already done so much for me."

He cocked his head to the side as Musichetta pulled his hand to help stand him to his feet. When she saw how unsteady he was, she turned to Joly while lifting the man's arm around her shoulders.

"Joly, help me with him."

"'Chetta, I - "

"Joly!"

"Fine," he sighed, grabbing onto the man's other arm and forcing more of his weight onto himself rather than Musichetta.

"Well, bring him to the Musain," she said. "Enjolras won't mind."

The man's head perked up, lifting straight out of his dreary and dazed stupor. "Enjolras?" he questioned in disbelief. "You know Enjolras?"

"Yeah," Musichetta started uneasily. "Do you know him?"

"He...he...my friend - "

"He's your friend?"

"No, n-no," he breathlessly responded. "He knows her."

Joly and Musichetta exchanged a perplexed glance as they peered at each other over the man's head. This situation was downright bizarre.

By the time they reached the Musain, Musichetta helped the man into a chair at the bar and was already calling for Enjolras and asking Courfeyrac to get him something hot to eat and drink. The wanted man came out from the back room carrying a fresh bottle of vodka, and grumbling something about yelling inside the restaurant. He lifted his head on the fourth call of his name, eyes widening as he took in the the people in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" he barked, angrily slamming down the bottle of vodka on the shelf and storming his way over to the trio.

"Enj, you know him?" Musichetta asked, gently touching the pale and cold man's shoulder.

"This bastard is Montparnasse's friend. What are _you_ doing with him?"

"My name is Babet," the man wheezed out before coughing into his hands.

"I don't care what your name is. I want to know what you're doing here."

"Enjolras," Musichetta cut in, using her harsh voice she normally reserved for rowdy patrons at The Lounge. "We brought him here. He was lying half-dead on the sidewalk. I didn't know you knew each other."

"I don't know him," Enjolras retorted with wrinkle of his upper lip.

"But...Éponine," Babet said in a near whisper.

Enjolras felt his blood rush cold, every muscle in his body freezing for just a moment. "What about her?"

"I tried to see her - "

"Wait, you know Éponine too?" Musichetta asked, looking between the glaring contest of Enjolras and Babet.

"Yeah...she's the friend I mentioned, the one who..." A cough erupted from him, cutting off his words.

"...the one whose life you ruined?" she finished.

"You ruined her life?" Enjolras could feel bile rising in his throat. _If this bastard so much as touched her too, or looked at her the wrong way... _But what did he mean by 'ruin her life?' What possibly could have happened? The hounding thoughts of any foreseeable outcome made Enjolras want to vomit up the bile in his throat.

Babet took in a breath, holding back another cough. "I stuck up for her. Yelled right back at Montparnasse for what he was doing to her - "

Enjolras was going to regret asking this, but with a sharp-edged tone he interrupted: "What did he do to her?"

The man in question swallowed. "It was New Year's Eve, he got her drunk just to find out some truth."

It was Musichetta who audibly gasped meanwhile Enjolras only fisted his hand by his side. "But you stopped him?" he pressed.

"I tried to. She was already drunk...she mentioned your name." He watched Enjolras sigh, but the tenseness in his shoulders relaxed visibly being replaced with sudden anxiety. "I stopped her from saying more. Wound up in an argument in the middle of _Cheers_. I just ended up making things worse." Consciously, Babet realized that he wouldn't say what happened in the alley that night, no point in making mad a man who already held a disdain for him.

"That where you got that black eye?"

"Nah," Babet shrugged. "He kicked me in the balls for that one. Black eye was from yesterday." He paused, casting his eyes down to the counter and when he lifted them, Courfeyrac had interrupted them, placing a mug of apple cider in front of him with a bowl of French onion soup. Babet thanked him quickly with a nod of acknowledgement and unsteadily picked up the spoon. "I went by the house," he said quietly. "I just wanted to see her, I was at least gonna call the ambulance if there was some serious damage to her."

"And did you? D-did you call an ambulance?"

He shook his heart ruefully. "I didn't see her. He wouldn't let me see her. I mean, I showed up at the house around two, there was no answer, house was quiet. So I went back in the evening right when Montparnasse had come home from work. I barged right in the house, hoping she would be there, but she wasn't. 'Parnasse just kept grabbing me and shouting, 'She's fine, she's fine.' I made it to the bathroom and when she wasn't there, I was gonna try the bedroom next - "

"Was she in the bedroom?" Musichetta questioned, hand covering her mouth already scared of the answer.

"I never opened the door. 'Parnasse just attacked me. Beat me so bad, I don't even remember leaving the house. I just remember walking. Guess I passed out at some point and when I woke today, I just sat there for awhile. Then I saw you," he said, meeting eyes with Musichetta and after, he gave a nod toward Joly. "This here the beau you mentioned? You back with him now?"

She nodded shyly. "I took your advice."

He replied with a lithe smile as far as his muscles would allow him to move. "Good." Returning his gaze downwards, he looked at the food in front of him. "And thank you, I'll give you money for this - "

"Don't worry, please."

Enjolras huffed. "What I'd like to know is where is Éponine. The police haven't seen her either."

"Police?" Babet asked, swallowing back a spoonful of soup.

"I went to the police on Sunday. I reported it." He scoffed. "But what help have they been? It's Friday now and no one has seen her. She hasn't even shown up for work."

"Enjolras," Musichetta timidly spoke up. "You don't...think he...that she's...?"

"No," Babet said. "He wouldn't. 'Parnasse is sick and twisted, but he wouldn't kill her. My guess is that he's just got her locked up in the bedroom. He's done something like this before."

Enjolras' eyes bulged and Babet just nodded grimly to him.

"Used to pay me to watch her the days she couldn't go to work. If he ever beat her so bad with an object or something, he'd keep her home until she healed mostly. Betcha this is something like that...but something worse since he's got no one to watch her now. Like hell he'd let me near her again. Man hates me now. That leaves him probably resorting to alternative methods. But one thing is certain, he's mad as hell ever since she mentioned your name. I'd watch your back if I was you."

"He...he..." Musichetta stuttered, hands gripping the side of the bar chair as her face contorted in worry. This was a revelation to her. Never before had she thought about abuse like this. To her it abuse was a punch, a few slaps, pushing and shoving, but never had the full realization hit her of how bad it could be, how one would ever dare to use an object on their spouse. And especially to be so close to her, happening right near her, with no degrees of separation, this was mind-blowing. "He really would...hurt her like that?"

With a look already knowing that he said too much, Babet gave a small nod and Musichetta gasped, face turning white. Joly immediately gripped her hand and brought it to his lips for a lingering kiss. "We'll help," he murmured. "With whatever we can do. We have to get her out of there."

Babet swallowed back the lump in his throat. "And I'm ready to help too, I don't care if he kills me, I'm just sorry I let it go on for so long."

"So what do we do, Enjolras?" Musichetta's worried voice asked as she cast a tearful look up to him.

Enjolras stared down at the three faces before him: Musichetta, Joly, and Babet. Each of them looked to him for the answer to this problem. The might as well have been asking him how to solve world hunger. He felt his heart give way to the splinters and finally split in two. He answered them back honestly; lips trembling and voice cracking: "I don't know."

* * *

**A/N: Hey! Please send me your predictions. I'd love to know what you think will happen next, or what you would like to happen next. All seems like a standstill right now, eh? Hehe, or is it?**


	29. Of Implications and Repercussions

**A/N: I've got a lot to say tonight, so please bear with me. One: I'm very melancholy about this chapter. Honestly, I'm so afraid to disappoint or that you won't like it. I feel like the pacing is super fast here and that concerns me…but a lot had to happen so I had to shorten some things. This was over 10,000 words and then I trimmed it down. Two: I'm sorry for the heavy language use in this one. Well, it's heavy for me. **

**TRIGGER WARNINGS: This chapter was a lot. So, if you are squeamish to any violence, please skip down to the first page break and continue ready, you will be safe from there. It's not so much that actions that are the trigger, but it's the words for this one, and they hit hard. **

**As a reminder, I want to take a moment and remember the main point of this story. Domestic violence is the real issue here, this is the enemy as much as our apathy to it can be. Never ever believe you are beyond help and never ever believe you are above giving help to someone. To help or to receive help does not show weakness, and more than anything it does not mean that a hidden agenda is at play. I really am trying to do my best to help people see what true domestic violence can be. It is so much more than a hit, a shove, and a punch. It's manipulation, it's control, and it non-communcation. More often in books we see romantic heroes as nothing more than fanatical glossed-up abusers and heroins who do nothing to stop it because they believe that it true love. It sickens me that that is what young girls look for in men now. I want to redraw the line - take a hard look girls, is this what you really want? Push aside the kisses and the gentle touches because they are just for show, and look what truly lies in that shell of a man. **

**I'm sorry if my little speech seems a bit all over the place, but it never hurts to remember that THIS IS NOT OKAY. And to drive the point home, my favorite artist Sam Hunt portrayed domestic violence brilliantly in his latest music video - "Take Your Time." Please _Please_ PLEASE watch it if you can. It will bring tears to your eyes and really help you remember the many forms that domestic violence comes in. **

**Now to wrap this up, I must must thank you all. I would not be writing this if it were not for each and every one of you. I love you all.**

**Please send me your thoughts, one more chapter to go now.**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 29 - Of Implications and Repercussions

...

It's like staring up at the sky and spinning in a circle, watching the tops of the trees dance until they become a blur. And then it's like falling to the ground and laughing until your sides hurt while your head spins and it's too heavy to even lift from the ground. That's what it feels like, except for this, this feeling doesn't go away in just a few minutes. No, he prolongs it. So this feeling lasts hours, days.

It's torturous...grueling.

For parts of the day her eyes would remain open and she could clearly see her closet doors and see the shadows that would move throughout the day as the sun rose and dipped, but she could not move. No muscle would respond to her voluntarily - her fingers would not twitch, her limbs could not wince, but her breath stayed steady along with her heart and for that small part, she was grateful.

She was paralyzed - all by the hands of her husband and a mug of coffee.

It had been a week of this; this excruciating waltz of going in and out of consciousness. But she had lost concept of time eternities ago, so it wasn't like she could truly tell anyway.

Each night when Montparnasse would come home, he would sit her up, hand her a glass of water and ask, "How was your day? What did you do?"

She would stay silent for a moment while her mind tried to recall anything that happened over the previous hours and then she would simply say, "I can't remember."

In reply, he would kiss her temple with a small chuckle, tuck her thick hair behind her ear and remark, "That's alright. Maybe you'll remember later. Come, let's go make dinner."

They would eat together and he would retire to the couch while she cleaned up the kitchen. Then he would tell her to shower and go to bed. Some nights she would be so nauseous that she'd spend a half hour retching over the toilet. All the same though, when the next morning would come, Éponine would eat breakfast and then Montparnasse would bring her a cup of coffee in bed. Each time she would drink it willingly and she would succumb to him once again, never to remember any of it.

For reasons that Montparnasse couldn't fathom, every morning he acted just the same each time he would hand her the mug of coffee and watch her drink it. Once she would finish the black liquid, he would take the mug from her hands, place it on the nightstand, and then wrap his arms around her svelte body, tucking her right into his chest and holding her until she fell asleep. He would watch her eyes drift shut and feel all the muscles in her relax and only then would he feel at ease, knowing - for a fact - that only in her sedated sleep would she not leave him. He would kiss her supple lips as he laid her down on the bed and then he would watch her motionless body for just a few minutes more.

As the week ended and the weekend came so did workers that Éponine had never seen before.

Éponine sat still on the couch while Montparnasse chatted up the bundled workers and told them exactly what he wanted. They all gave her a friendly smile but none of them said a word to her, and neither she to them.

For the entire Saturday morning, all Éponine heard was banging and drilling and buzzing while drafts poured in through constantly opened doors. At least she was dressed warm enough though. Knowing the workers were coming over, Montparnasse had her wear long jeans and boots, a thick cream sweater where the sleeves fell down to the tips of her fingers, and a big tan infinity scarf to cover the swoop neck of the sweater. The only exposed skin shown was her fingers and face, both of which appeared a pale alabaster to the naked eye.

At one point in the afternoon, a worker walked into the living room and paused hesitantly by the couch. With wide eyes, Éponine removed her eyes from the television and looked up to him but said nothing.

"Excuse me," he started. "But your husband said you could get me and some of the boys a few water bottles? We've worked up quite a sweat outside."

She took in his tall physique and reddened skin from the cold as he slipped off his damp gloves and held them in one hand. "Yeah," she whispered, rising to her feet and walking toward the kitchen.

The worker followed behind her, eyes dropping low to the sway of her hips as she moved. Opening the refrigerator, Éponine began to pull out a dozen water bottles and set them on the counter.

Instantly, the worker closed the distance between them and reached for a water bottle, making sure to brush her hand as she set it down. He only smirked and she retracted her hand like she was touching fire. Under her fearful look, he tucked his gloves under his arm and opened the water bottle, locking eyes with her as he took in a long sip.

"Thanks for that," he said upon swallowing. "Work's coming along great if you were curious to know. We should be all finished no later than five."

She cast her brown orbs up to him with worry and confusion all rolled into one. "What are you doing out there?"

"Didn't your husband tell you?" he asked, furrowing his brow.

"Well...no."

"Oh," he said a bit too cheerily. "We've been changing and updating all the locks on the windows and doors and even adding a security system and cameras. He said he got freaked out after hearing about an increase in burglaries. But I don't blame him, I guess, better safe than sorry, right?" He tipped back the water bottle, gulping another sip, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. "Odd though," he started again, wiping his sleeve over his mouth, "this is the first time I've ever put locks on both sides of the doors. Weird, but your husband said it was for a good reason, but he didn't say what." The worker nodded to himself before gulping down the rest of the water bottle in one sip. "Your husband's a nice guy, gets along with the boys great, makes jokes and everything. How long you two been married?"

After a moment of silence and taking in all this new information, Éponine realized that question was for her. "Five years," she answered, her words slurring. She couldn't understand why she felt so lethargic or why her chest felt so tight, but she put up a facade, hoping this man wouldn't notice. "Need help carrying some of these?" she asked, beginning to gather a few bottles into her arms.

"Yeah...yeah, thanks, real nice guy," he mused and then held up the empty water bottle like he was presenting her with a gift. "Trash or recycle?"

"Recycle, but I'll take it." She reached forward for it and he seized this opportunity to snatch her wrist, eliciting a gasp from her and causing the three water bottles in her arm to fall.

He spread her fingers apart with one hand as she stood frozen, unable to move or blink. "Pretty ring," he said, brushing his thumb over her gold band. "And wow, anyone ever tell you how soft your hands are?"

"Éponine."

That voice chilled her bones, made her jump back, sent fear crawling up her spine, and racked her body with shivers.

"What are you doing?" Montparnasse asked, his question aimed at both individuals in front of him.

Was he going to ask about the worker in the room with her? Was he going to accuse her of flirting with him? Was he about to explode? Yell at her? Cause a scene? What she would give to know what was going through his mind right now.

"G-getting the w-water bottles," she stuttered, heat swallowing up her entire body, her skin crawling as if it were burning. "Y-you asked for...for t-them."

Montparnasse knitted his lowered brows and pushed his way in between Éponine and the worker, making sure to cast a stare at each of them.

"Go watch T.V. in the bedroom, 'Ponine. I'll be in there shortly."

It was a threat.

His deathly green eyes watched her scatter out of the room and he turned his vicious gaze to his hired worker. Montparnasse grit his teeth together, hard enough to crack them. With tempered rage, he spoke through them: "Get your fucking things. Get away from my fucking property. And get out of my fucking house."

The man opened his mouth to ask about pay but he shut his jaw seeing Montparnasse's hands ball into fists. Payment suddenly fell to the back of his mind.

In the bedroom, Éponine fell onto the bed hyperventilating, hands gripping her chest. Breathing was a near impossible task as her heart felt like it was being seared apart. She tried her best to control the gasps that racked her body with uncontrollable force, but it was to no avail. Any minute now, Montparnasse would burst through that door and accuse her of infidelity. And no matter what answer she gave, he would punish her for it, all while the workers continued their work outside, completely unaware to the beating happening no more than thirty feet from them.

But no, it wasn't punishment.

Éponine's mind did a backflip. _There is no such thing as punishment. This is abuse._

But it did not matter what it was called, for regardless of the name, the fact remained that she would still be hurt for her actions. That thought cooled the sweat that was seeping through the underarms of her sweater. And rightfully so, Éponine was ready to leave. She was ready to run far away and never look back at this house or her husband again. She would rather be anywhere right now than in Montparnasse's clutches - to be his caged bird while he sat as the cat, watching and waiting for his turn to torture her.

Could she leave right now? Of course she _could_, but she would be asking for more trouble if she did. So instead, she sat on the bed, knees tucked tightly to her chest while she rocked back and forth steadily, the distant sounds of drilling and her own labored breathing the only thing she could hear.

The bedroom door creaked, alerting her attention, and sure enough, the grim shadow of Montparnasse walked into the room. His face was stone, marble eyes setting on her as he closed the door behind him, making sure to flip the lock button on the handle.

Stealthily, he sauntered nearer to her. "How many times do I need to repeat myself, Éponine? If you so much as _look_ at another man - "

"I wasn't flirting with him. I swear, 'Parnasse."

He came up right in front of her, kneecaps hitting the mattress as he cast a deathly glare down to her. "Then what do you call it then?"

"I...I was just being polite. He...he touched me - "

He lunged for her, latching onto a fistful of her hair and dragging her to the floor. She yelped, blind hands groping for his wrist to make him let go. "You're a whore! A slut! Another man comes into the house for a blasted two seconds and I find you all over him? Where is your loyalty?" He bent down, his face mere inches from hers, the spit from his words hitting her clear in the face. "In. My. Own. Home." Letting go of her hair abruptly, she fell to the floor with a thud.

Her head pounded as his words echoed through her skull again and again. But when the clouds in her mind separated for just a moment, she fought the onslaught of fatigue and narrowed her eyes at him, rising to her feet. "I've always been faithful to you. Never once have I looked at someone else. Never have I been unfaithful. You've _always_ been my everything."

"Lies! They're all damn lies. I've seen it a hundred times, I've seen the way men look at you, I've seen the way you bat your eyes at them. You say you love me but you love the attention more."

Boldly, she took a step toward him, standing her ground, preparing for a battle. "You know damn well that isn't true - "

He closed the distance in one fierce stride, grasping her upper arms. "You forget that you're mine! All mine!" he shouted. One hand lifted from her arm to fist her hair behind her head, giving her a sturdy shake. "You are my property, Éponine. You have no right to talk back to me, you have no right to fight me, and you have no damn right to look at another man!"

She snapped.

Something within her, something foreign impaired her thinking, gave her ideas that her brain never concocted in her life before. With a new anxiety, a new urge, she jerked in his grasp and pushed him - hard and square in the chest, forcing him back a step. "Get off of me! Don't you ever touch me like that again!"

His eyes lit aflame the same second that he let go of her hair. He stared at her for a grave moment, his brain finally comprehending that she actually just pushed him. He almost laughed. "Are _you_ telling _me_ what to do?" A sick smile fell over his lips. "That's not how it works, my dear."

Her heart found her throat, choking the air from her lungs and in that same instant, so were Montparnasse's hands.

"You think you can push me? You think you have the right to touch _me_?"

His fingers slipped beneath her scarf and curled around the flesh of her neck, nails harshly digging into her skin, thumbs pressing right against her esophagus. She cried out silently, already losing the battle she was desperately trying to take part in. Her legs grew weak as pain engulfed her and his strong arms forced her to her knees.

"I should break your arms."

Defiance. Disobedience. Rebellion.

"I should chain you to the bed."

Control was slipping from his grasp and he wanted nothing more than to take it back. His instincts took over once again and he knew the only way to gain control was through pain...humiliation...suffering.

"I should whip you...hit you..." Lowering his lips to her blue-tinted face, he whispered right in her ear: "...or just use a wrench."

Her eyes grew the size of saucers as her face took on a look of hurt. He only sneered at her expression, knowing he hit her right where he wanted.

He needed to weaken her. He needed to see her beg on her hands and knees for mercy, see her shout apologies into the floor, grovel for him to end the torture; plead, beseech, entreat him to forgive.

"Does the dog tell its owner what to do?" he snarled, loosening the pressure on her neck but not resolving his hold of her. "Does the bitch bark orders now and expect her Master to oblige?"

Her eyes coated over with water before they sagged and her eyelids began to fall. "I'm not your bitch." This was her last attempt to stay in the fight, one trivial little sentence that even she did not fully believe.

Immediately, Montparnasse let go of her neck with one hand, palm grappling the side of her head as his thumb peeled back her eyelid. "Yes you are. I own you. You are my bitch and I am your Master. I do not listen to you and you do not give me orders."

A sudden cough erupted from her, giving her reason to fight for oxygen. It was the only thing left she could fight for. Words were failing, her breathing was failing, she was failing...fast and hard.

"Tell me whose you are."

She didn't answer right away, the black spots took over her vision, claiming her attention. He growled in frustration, his hands tugging her rougher.

The tighter his hands grew, the more she wanted the pain to end. So she gave in to him. "Yours," she breathed.

"Say it again."

"Yours." Her word was a wheeze. She could barely even feel his hands on her now; the feeling of his touch had long gone numb and she found herself at total mercy of his claws.

"Louder."

"I'm yours!"

He dropped his face close to hers again, staring right into the depths of her dazed eyes. "Now tell me what you are. You are my what?"

Slowly, she shook her head and instantly he squeezed her head between both of his palms, the heels of his hands pressing into her eardrums.

Sound fell away. She swallowed, the sound of it an earthquake in her brain. Her heart was a muffled thunder, pounding, thrashing erratically. She stayed quiet, trapped into this little world that he created for her.

"You are my what?" his muted voice said from a place faraway. With no answer still, he shifted his hands and demanded again.

His voice rang clear through her mind this time and she knew he was a breath away from squeezing her brains out. Could she win this fight? ...There wasn't a chance in hell.

"I'm your bitch," she relented.

Satisfied with her answer, he released his hold on her by a fraction. "Why can't you get it through your thick skull? Why can't you obey me? Why do you always fight me?" A beat. "I control you. You do as I say. You do what I want, when I want it, how I want it. I control what you do, I control your actions, I control the very thoughts in your head. You _belong_ to me." He shoved her to the floor with a grunt. "Now be a good little bitch and suck me off, Éponine. I want my cum inside you...claiming you. I want to control you from the inside."

His fingers made haste at unlatching his belt and undoing his zipper. He leaned back against the bed and all but forced her mouth onto him.

Montparnasse knew that he'd won. He always won, it was no shock. But no matter his words or the things he said to her just now, he would never be able to control the exact thoughts that encircled her mind in the next moment.

The truth was, Éponine was still defying him even as she gave him what he wanted, for in the forefront her mind, her thoughts laughed:

_I will leave you, and when I do, I won't even look back._

_..._

The next morning she awoke salivating, sweating, trembling. She was huddled in a cocoon of blankets, arms tightly bound against her chest and hands clammy from her own hot breath. She didn't hear him, she didn't know what time it was, and she couldn't make sense of anything until a chilled hand pressed against her forehead.

"No, no fever," he murmured.

Her eyes focused enough to see his piercing green eyes looking down at her with a look of pity. "What...did you do to me?" her voice rasped.

He shook his head with a grimace. "Nothing," he shrugged. "Why would you think I did something? I would never harm you like this."

_Like this, _the words echoed in her head, the meaning behind his sentence freezing her heart.

In the next second, he was walking away from her and out of the bedroom. She stayed wrapped under her blankets, her eyes closing once again, and only realized the faucet had been running when the sound of it stopped. Hands were suddenly groping her again and she moaned a loss of warmth when the blankets were tossed aside.

"Please, stop..." she begged drearily, wishing that he would just let her suffer alone, that he would just let her endure this hell that he had - no doubt - put her through by herself. There was nothing worse than this; to be at the mercy of the one who wanted to hurt her, to be scared of what he would do to her and having no ability to stop him.

He didn't make any motion to stop no matter how much she feebly tried to push him away. His hands continued their motions, slipping under her sweat-soaked pajama shirt and peeling it off her. Next, he slipped off her underwear and pants in one motion, tossing them into some random pile on the floor.

"Please," she cried, tears coming from her eyes before she could stop them.

Ignoring her with a sigh, Montparnasse simply wrapped a blanket around her nude body and lifted her from the bed, carrying her out of the room with ease.

"I think you lost some weight," he remarked as he kicked open the bathroom door. "Not to worry though, you'll be eating lunch again this week so you shouldn't lose anymore."

Her feet landed on cold tile and he stripped the blanket from her. "Where am I?" she asked, pressing a hand to her forehead and squinting her eyes in the bright lights.

"We're in the bathroom," he said, keeping an arm around her unsteady frame so she wouldn't fall over. "C'mon," he prompted. "Hold onto me and get in."

She glanced around, eyes blinking as he helped her into a tub of steaming water and sat her down. Once she was settled, he sat on his knees outside the tub, rolling up the sleeves to his Henley shirt. Leaning forward, he cupped water in his hand and drenched the dry parts of her skin.

"My fingers are tingling," she whispered.

"You're going through withdrawal," he explicated. "This is just your body's way of detoxifying itself." He leaned away from her and grabbed a glass that was ready and waiting for him on the sink counter. "Lean your head back," he told her and she obliged. Dipping the glass under the water first, he placed a gentle hand under the back of her head and poured the water over her hair.

"Withdrawal?" she repeated after a long while.

"Nothing major," he mused. "Should just be a day or so until it all flushes through your system. You weren't on it for that long anyway."

She sat, bewildered beyond the point of comprehension, not understanding what he was talking about or what he meant by any of it.

Nevertheless, Montparnasse squirted out a dollop of shampoo into his palm and brought it closer to her. Immediately, she shied away from him, scooting closer to the tiled wall.

His face hardened momentarily. "Be a good girl, 'Ponine...I won't sedate you tomorrow if you behave."

As if being struck across the cheek, her mouth fell ajar and twisted into a grimace. "Sedate me?"

He nodded nonchalantly and pulled her closer with his free hand to lather the shampoo into her hair. This time she relented, curiosity overtaking her fear of him. "Yes," he said. "But it won't be necessary anymore so long as you behave." He talked while he massaged her scalp with suds and then dumped fresh water from the faucet over her, cutting her off from any refute she might have had.

She spit out the water and soap that leaked into her mouth, gasping for a moment before she found words again. "But...work?"

"You're not going to work."

"But - " Another stream of water poured over her head and his hand stroked through her wet locks, rinsing out all the leftover suds. She panted, "Why not?"

He held her back at arms length, staring right into her eyes. "Because I don't trust you outside of this house. And if yesterday proved anything, I can't even trust you inside the house." Her eyes cast downward at his words, her heart hardening further and further. A finger under her chin lifted her stone face to his. "You're not still mad about yesterday, are you, Éponine? I gave you my forgiveness, didn't I?" She wrenched her face from his grasp, averting her gaze from his eyes. He huffed. "You have no reason to be mad about yesterday. 'For jealousy makes a husband furious; he will show no compassion when he' - finish it, 'Ponine." There was no response. "When he does what?"

She sniffled and jutted out her chin just an inch.

He ground his teeth in her silence. "Éponine."

"'...takes revenge,'" she bit out. *

"Good," he smiled, a grin showing off his pearl teeth. As he reached for the conditioner and squirted out a dime-sized amount, he chewed on his thoughts. "Let's do another one. 'The wife does not have authority over her own body, but...'" He paused waiting for her to continue while kneading the conditioner down to the tips of her hair.

"'...her husband does,'" * she finished. Suddenly, her head lifted in realization. "'Likewise, the husband - '"

"'A wife is bound as long as...'"

"'Likewise,'" she started again, undeterred by his interruption. "'The husband does not have authority - '"

In one swoop, he filled the glass with water and poured it over her face, a scowl etched onto his features.

"'A wife is bound as long as her husband is alive,'" * he said in full. His eyes glared daggers at her, teeth pressing hard together for a full minute of silence. "I think we're done here," he finally said.

Montparnasse took in a calming breath, closing his eyes and pacifying his rage. When he opened his eyes, Éponine sat terrified, staring at him with her wide brown orbs until another small convulsion took hold over her body. He reached forward with all tenderness and cupped the side of her head, bringing his lips close to hers until they met in a searing touch. Pulling away, a smile adorned his features contrasting the horrified look on her face.

"'A capable wife is a crown to her husband, but the wife who acts shamefully is like rottenness in his bones.'" * He reached past her, grabbing the bar soap from the ledge. "C'mon now, let's finish your bath and then get you back in bed, my sweet girl."

...

Murmurs of patrons flooded into the conversation as silence overtook the three men. With a gruff sigh, Joly placed down his iPad on the table and the two others stared at him, hanging on his every word.

"So, is it done?" Enjolras asked.

In reply, Joly just flicked some leftover crumbs off the table as Babet groaned softly, turning his gaze from Enjolras and rubbing the back of his neck.

"What?" Enjolras asked with a pointed stare to Babet.

"Nothing," the stoner said, automatically rising to the defense. "I just still don't think this is a great idea."

"Ten minutes ago you just agreed! And now you tell me it's not a good idea?"

"It's not that it's a bad idea…I just don't see why I can't just go to the police. One look at me and they'd get a warrant to search their house."

Joly nodded his head. "I agree with Babet, Enj. I don't think it's such a good idea to post her photo."

Enjolras locked his eyes on Babet once again. "This will be good. Trust me. Once this story is out there, the police will have to do something more to help. And it's realistic enough, Éponine hasn't shown up to work, even the police can't find her, people will have to ask questions. She _is_ a missing person for all they know."

Babet rubbed his hands over his face. "So let's just say that if her boss _did_ report her missing, then wouldn't the police show up at Montparnasse's job before filing a Missing Persons Report? Wouldn't they try to contact him?"

"They tried. Can't reach him," Enjolras answered simply. "They went to the house and no one was there, they can't get ahold of him at his job either. That's what I had Joly write."

Joly butted in, "Enjolras, I just see this causing more trouble than solving anything. But I don't want to argue. If you're sure about this - "

"I am." His face was resolute, staring between both of them. "Montparnasse will have to let her out of the house, he'd have to send her to work at least. Seriously, Babet, he could be doing anything to her inside that house. She's not safe there. And now people will know about her, people will talk. The police can't keep masses silent."

Another irritated sigh left Babet's mouth. "We should just persuade the police to get a warrant and search the house. I think that would be smarter."

"And how long will that take? We might not have days."

Scraping back his chair, Babet stood to his feet, now looking down at Enjolras and Joly and all the untouched silverware decorating the table. "Please don't post her photo. Really, then you're just giving Montparnasse a reason to hurt her. We'll all go talk to the police again tomorrow. I've got a job tomorrow, I get off around eight. We can go then. But for now, I should get going." He gave a glance outside at the blackened sky and the yellow streetlights and nodded. "It's pretty late and I've got to walk."

With a little grimace, Joly rose to his feet. "I'll drive you home, Musichetta's probably waiting up for me, so I should head home too." He looked to his blue-eyed friend with a nod. "Enj, I don't think we should post it either."

A solemn nod to both of the other men and then Enjolras rose as well. He huffed out a breath of annoyance. "Fine. Tomorrow night then. Eight. It's all or nothing. I'm not playing games anymore."

"And neither are we," Joly assured, giving one more look around the bar at a small rowdy group of college kids. "You'll be good here by yourself?"

"Just a couple more hours. I close at two. I'll be fine." His tone was clipped.

"Alright," Joly sighed. "Goodnight."

...

Montparnasse tapped his fingers along the steering wheel of his idle car, a hard scowl stapled to his face, lips pressed into a hard line. For the past two hours, his eyes didn't leave the view in front of him. Across the street sat the much too familiar Musain, the inside lights giving him a perfect view of the table and bar counter and even the red-vested blonde bartender.

"You saw Babet go in there today?" he said to the man sitting beside him, still not removing his eyes from the little image of Enjolras.

Brujon grunted as he shifted in the passenger seat, clearly uncomfortable and itching to get out of the stifling car. "Yeah, me and Claquesous were driving by and I saw him walking in. That's what I told you before."

"I know, I just wish I saw him. You think he really knows that Enjolras guy?"

"I don't know, you heard 'em, man. Babet definitely knows something more about him and 'Ponine."

Montparnasse clenched the steering wheel before pushing back in his seat with a grump. "He said Enjolras loves her more than I do. You think that's true?" he flared, face already beginning to turn red.

"Relax, 'Parnasse. Babet just wanted to make you mad. I don't know what's gotten into him."

"Babet still living with you?"

"Yeah, but some nights he doesn't come home anymore."

"You should change the locks," Montparnasse stated. "That's what I just did. I'm not letting 'Ponine leave."

Brujon was quiet a second longer. "How'd the rufies work?"

Montparnasse smiled, turning his attention fully to his friend. "Like a charm."

Simply, Brujon chuckled, turning his attention back to the Musain window and locking his vision on Enjolras again.

Montparnasse's attention followed in suit; a car passing by to reveal Enjolras refilling a beer from the tap. "Stupid cocksucker," he grumbled. "No one loves 'Ponine more than I do. She knows that. Why the hell would she cheat on me? And with him? God...even she could do better than him."

"Maybe attention?" Brujon shrugged. "Either way, this gives you cause to do anything you want to her. It's not all that bad."

Montparnasse balled his fists on his thighs. "God, when I get my proof of the two of them. There'll be hell to pay."

Once again, Brujon shifted in his seat, scooting a little closer to the dashboard and staring at the rowdy group of college students exitiing the bar. "What are you gonna do to her?" he asked almost hesitantly.

With a smile, Montparnasse released his fists. "I'm still planning. But him...? He'll be dead. I'll make sure of it."

"Hey, look," Brujon started, pointing ahead to the Musain.

Montparnasse stilled, watching intently as the lights to the bar began to shut off and Enjolras walked around wiping off tables and stacking chairs. There wasn't another word spoken between them until Enjolras slipped his coat on, shut off the last of the lights, and locked the door behind him on his way out.

"Which car is his?" Brujon pestered.

Montparnasse chose not to answer and instead, placed his foot on the brake and pushed the ignition button of the car. Cautiously, he waited a few moments, watching as Enjolras' silhouette walked down the block and stopped in front of a red car - maroon in the blackness of night.

When his car's lights illuminated the street and the car pulled out into the road, zooming past them, Montparnasse waited a precise three seconds and flipped a U-turn. His vision locked onto the red car up in front of them and followed behind it, close enough to keep track of it, but far enough not to raise Enjolras' suspicion. At a green light, Montparnasse slowed down just enough to let a car make a right turn, nestling itself between Enjolras and Montparnasse. From a car apart, Montparnasse and Babet followed through the emptier main streets of Boston until Enjolras took a turn into a quieter part of the city.

Enjolras put his blinker on and pulled off to the side of the street, double parking a car. Methodically, Montparnasse kept driving past him and circled the block. Before making the right turn to where Enjolras' car was, Montparnasse pulled off to the side of the street, pulling along side a parked car. He watched through the windows of the parked car to see Enjolras picking up two orange cones from between two other parked cars. He walked the cones to the stoop of one apartment door and then walked back to his car. Now having a parking spot available, Enjolras tucked his car right in front of - what Montparnasse believed to be - his apartment doorstep.

"What street are we on?" he barked to Brujon.

"Endicott."

Fury crawled its way up Montparnasse's spine. "Christmas Day," he gravely said. "She was here. With him."

At 3:17 a.m., after Brujon was dropped off at home and Montparnasse parked in his driveway, the black-haired man crawled into bed next to his sleeping wife. In the dark hue of night, he leaned over her to watch her, supporting his body weight on one arm. With her back facing him, he brushed aside her hair with his free hand and gently stroked her cheek with the pad of his index finger.

"Oh, my pretty 'Ponine," he whispered. "I'm finally putting all the pieces together."

...

Monday morning and Montparnasse was standing in front of the bedroom mirror, fixing his cufflinks and adjusting his tie. His eyes shifted to the background reflection in the mirror as he watched a bundle of covers move about and suddenly, a head of brown locks sat up.

"'Morning, sleepyhead," he called softly from the other side of the room.

She blinked around for a moment before adjusting her blurry vision to her husband as he gracefully then turned around and walked over to her. The air of the room felt light, despite the gnawing ache inside of her heart. For a minute she could pretend that this was any other day, like every other morning that had happened before. The familiarity of the scene in front of her was comforting - her husband dressing for work while she lazily awoke not too long after. But Éponine knew the significance of this day, she knew what today meant. She knew what must happen today, and she knew exactly how this day would end. The thoughts of what she was planning scared her, but Éponine was determined.

She was strong.

Still, she didn't know how this would all take place, but she knew once it happened, there was no going back. The scars on her arms began to throb in rhythm with her heart only heightening her fear. She could do this. She _would_ do this. Éponine had waited far too long and now she only saw one way out.

"How are you feeling?" her husband asked, taking a spot beside her on the bed, his pant leg rising to expose his black socks as he crossed a leg over his knee.

Simply, she shrugged, brushing back her strewn hair with her fingers. Montparnasse reached out and stopped her motions, delicately combing his slender fingers through her hair instead.

"Well, you'll have plenty of time to rest today if you're still not feeling too well." His eyes gazed her up and down, taking into account, but not dwelling on the bright purple marks around her neck. "But I don't want you staying in bed all day, alright? There is plenty that has to be done." He glanced down, avoiding her empty gaze and began to pick at some imaginary lint on his slacks. "The bathroom needs to be cleaned. The house hasn't been vacuumed in over a week. Laundry is piling up. Dusting can be done..." He met her eyes again and took in their wide state. "You don't have to do it all today, but still, keep it in mind."

She forced a nod, her neck creaking as she made use of her strained muscles.

Looking back at her sincerely, he smiled, cupping the side of her face. "You know," he said cheerily. "I should talk to Mr. Thatcher. Perhaps I could fire Fredrick and use _you_ as my assistant. Then I wouldn't have to worry so much about you during the day."

"I have a job," she said in a breath, eyes nearly pleading, emotions cascading over her like a waterfall.

"Not for long," he smirked, taking Éponine's hand and interlocking their fingers. "Come walk me out...before I'm late for work."

He kept his hand in hers, helping her stand to her feet and then wrapping his other arm around her waist. She thought for a split moment about refusing the contact, but her head was still a bit foggy and the guilt was beginning to grow. So appeasing him, she stumbled along with him, out of the bedroom, down the hallway and to the foyer.

With each step, tears were threatening to prick her eyes, her throat closing, constricting her breath, hurting. For everything she knew about today, she felt guilty. Shame dawned on her so much that she was afraid to even look at her husband. Her mind constantly reminded her that this was the man she loved. She had always loved him and she would always love him in some deep, desperate part of her. That's where the penitent feeling arose and where it suffocated her. This walk with him would be the last she ever took. In only a few hours, both of their worlds would be irrevocably changed forevermore.

And there would be no going back.

By the front door, the air suddenly felt thinner and colder; the winter weather radiating into the house, precisely adding to the cold forming in her heart. But the most jarring aspect in Éponine's vision was the newly installed white box that hung right next to the door.

Montparnasse came to a halt and faced her, both hands instinctively wrapping around her waist and tugging her closer. He smiled sweetly, eyes sparkling with adoration as he beheld her, taking her all in. In his mind, nothing would ever come close to the way she looked with that drowsy gleam in her eyes and hair still mussed with the remnants of sleep.

The look he gave her was enough to stop her heart, clenching and tightening just like her throat. His gaze was too much and so she tore her eyes away, looking down to the floor as a small tear escaped.

"Hey," he whispered, one hand lifting from her waist to grab her chin. He locked eyes with her again just in time to see her face crumple. "Why are you crying, darling?"

She opened her mouth, gasping in a breath of air, but no words would come out in her exhale. Instead, she shrugged.

He smiled. "Then there's no need for tears." Leaning forward, he placed a kiss to each of her eyelids as if silencing the tears once and for all.

His kindness only furthered the guilt that was slowly killing her. For right now - this man that stood before her with a light heart and true sincerity, this man who looked at her as if she were his only light in darkness, this man who was willing to make himself late for work in order to dry her tears - this was the man she fell in love with.

How could she do this to him?

"It's only work," he started. "I'll be home early tonight, alright? Will that make you feel better? I can be home at five if you want."

She shrugged, not sure of any other response. "I don't want your boss to be mad."

"Mr. Thatcher will be fine, I'm sure. But listen 'Ponine," he paused. Suddenly, his muscles tensed beneath her fingers and she searched his eyes for his changing mood. "I wanted to just go over with you some things before I left." She nodded warily. "There is a new alarm system. Once I leave I'll arm it with a code and I'll have thirty seconds to leave. The only way to disarm it is with a different code. That means while I'm gone, you can't open any doors or windows without the alarm going off and then I will be called and the police will be called. There are also new locks on the doors that only I have the key to and there are even new security cameras installed."

"Because you don't trust me?"

"It's for your protection, darling...and for my sanity," he smirked.

And there was her reason.

This was exactly why she was doing this. His words only solidified the actions of her heart for even if he kissed her eyes and whispered soft words to her, that monster was still there, lying in wait underneath - and more prevalent than ever before.

"Okay," she acquiesced.

With a small kiss to her forehead, Montparnasse released her and stepped around her. He gathered up his suit jacket from the small table that sat beneath the hooks of coats, slipping it on and grabbing his car keys. Éponine deftly took his pea coat from the hook before his hands could grab it and held it out for him to slip his arms into. Smiling to her, he complied and turned to face her once again. She made work of doing up his buttons for him as he reached down to take his briefcase from the floor.

When she secured the last button, she tugged him by his lapels a step closer to her. "You're mine, aren't you, Montparnasse?" she whispered, her eyes smoldering.

He placed a gentle and chaste kiss on her lips, the sound of it loud in the emptiness of the foyer. "Yours," he breathed. "All yours, my 'Ponine."

As he went to pull away, her heart nearly broke in two; the ache was suddenly building throughout her entire body, sending shockwaves up her spine and down her limbs. Without a second thought, she pulled his face back to his - nevermind the roughness - and smashed her lips into his in a bruising kiss. In a moment, her mouth was open, trying to devour any bit of him she could while her arms pulled him against her, pressing his body close, trying to feel any morsel of contact through the clothes.

He could feel the desperation in her kiss, taste the salt from her silent tears, but he didn't care. All that mattered to him was her - her body and the fact that she was craving him. Pushing her against the wall, he secured her arms above her head and pressed himself firm against her, hips grinding for friction while his lips continued to suck where hers had long ago ceased. With a grunt of frustration, he yanked his mouth away from her, breathing hard onto her face while his eyes locked with hers.

"When I come home...tonight...we'll finish this." He inhaled a deep breath. "I'm sorry, 'Ponine. I'm gonna be late."

She held his gaze, her expression unreadable while his hands still made no move to let go of her. "I love you," she said, breathless and panting.

His mouth lifted into a breathy smile and simultaneously, he released her. "Oh, 'Ponine..." Swiftly but firmly, his lips pressed against hers once more and in another few seconds, he pulled away. "I've got to go to work. Tonight," he promised. "As soon as I walk in the door. Be ready."

She swallowed and like lightning, the code was put in the little white box, his hand was on the door and the cold air was drenching her. "Thirty seconds," he murmured, a foot already over the threshold.

"'Parnasse," she called, he voice almost frantic.

He turned to face her in the doorway with a simper. "'Ponine," he echoed.

"Goodbye, Montparnasse. Just...goodbye."

With one last true smile, he nodded his head subtly. "Bye, 'Ponine. I'll see you later."

When the door shut, she fell against it; her forehead pressing deep against the wood, her palms flat and she whispered, "Bye."

She listened intently to his keys locking the door, his car starting up, the white box beeping to tell her it was armed, and the sound of the tires disappearing down the driveway. When silence finally encased her, she sunk to her knees and turned over to sit on her butt, back against the door. Éponine didn't know how long she sat there but it was well past the point of her eyes running out of tears, her shivers finally stopping, and her behind going numb from the draft beneath the door.

But this was now it. Do or die. Literally.

She knew the fact that it had come to that point meant that what she was planning was the right coarse of action. With a swallow and narrowed eyes, Éponine stood to her feet.

For the next few hours she meticulously cleaned and picked up the house, she straightened the bedroom and changed the sheets, she dusted and vacuumed, she washed the dishes, dried them, and put them away. Everything was neat, everything was orderly, everything was perfect. And only then did she pull the knife from its spot in the Chef's Rack and meticulously clean it just as everything else was cleaned.

Once it was shining and her face clearly reflected in the steel, she slid her fingers along the edge of it, just light enough to feel it but not hard enough to puncture. Rising from the kitchen table, she took the knife with her into the bedroom but not before stopping at the foyer to gather her car key and put on her white peacoat, just the same, meticulously doing up the buttons and brushing her hair over it perfectly.

Putting one foot in front of the other and hugging the knife close to her chest, Éponine walked diligently to the bedroom. Her heart was pounding, her head thrumming as each step brought her closer and closer to an end.

The end of a chapter.

The end of the life she knew.

Endings are a funny thing, aren't they? Sometimes they can derail you, but other times, they are just a catalyst for a new beginning.

And so, without so much as another guilty thought that would turn her back on her plan, Éponine stuffed random contents into a suitcase, leaving the room in disarray, and ran toward the living room. With all her strength she forced open the window, alarms blaring within seconds. But as her panic increased, so did her speed. She tossed out the suitcase first, the knife still fisted in her hand, and followed in suit. Doing her best to remain calm, she hurriedly brushed snow and ice from her car only enough so that she could see out the window and piled herself, the knife and the suitcase in with haste.

With the press of a button and the skid of tires, Éponine sped off down the driveway and onto the road, not even glancing back at her beloved home - just as she promised.

* * *

* Proverbs 6:34  
* 1 Corinthians 7:4  
* 1 Corinthians 7:39  
* Proverbs 12:4


	30. Of Returning and Redemption

**A/N: Wow. This is it. It has really been such an incredible journey. And it's always such a bittersweet moment...But before you all cry, there is a surprise at the end of this chapter, so don't even worry. (Don't scroll down, you'll just ruin it.) So, sorry that I've been all over the place and sorry that this chapter has taken so long to get out. But I really wanted this to be the best it could be. You all deserved that at least. **

**But if you all would like, let me know if you want me to post an Outtake/Alternated Scenes chapter right after this? I've done a bunch of rewriting and if you all are curious to see some of the original ideas, let's me know and I'll post that. **

**So for now, I can't thank you all enough with this story. It's only because of you all that this has been possible. Seriously, thank you. I wish there was something I could do for you guys...if anything, let me know. But really, I'm dying to know what you'll be feeling and thinking after this chapter. Goodness, I hope it lives up to what you've all been waiting for. **

**I love you all and this time, I **_**promise**_** to reply to your reviews, gah! Don't hate me!**

**Now, please enjoy! I'll see you all shortly...**

* * *

...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Chapter 30 - Of Returning and Redemption

...

The mid-afternoon sun rose high above the white-stone building, shining light into the various offices. Boston had never looked more beautiful on this Winter day. The sun reflecting off a city bathed in white while the wind blew and the clouds drifted closer together. But even if outside the day was magnificent, inside one stuffy little office on the twentieth floor, the day was anything but.

"Dammit! I don't care!" he growled into the phone, slamming his palm flat onto the wood desk, not even flinching at the sting. "You tell Kingman he can shove it up his ass, I need those mergers tomorrow." Gradually, Montparnasse loosened his tie, anger boiling his blood the more this phone conversation just ran in circles.

The sound of his office door squeaking, alerted his dark eyes to the timid, freckled boy carefully scooting into the room. "Mr. Moreaux?" he murmured.

Huffing back in his seat, Montparnasse held up one finger to his assistant and focused his attention back to the phone. "...Well fire him. If he can't do what I need, then what good is he? ...You understand me? I'm done giving him leeway... He has until tomorrow." One hard click of the office phone back on the receiver and Montparnasse was finished. As his back stiffened, he grazed his eyes over to Fredrick who seemingly looked winded all of a sudden.

_What's wrong with him? _Montparnasse wondered. _It's not like Éponine is here for him to drool over._

"M-Mr. Moreaux, your three o'clock is here early...s-should I send him in?"

Glancing at the clock on his computer screen, the time read only 2:33. A look of disgust took over Montparnasse's previously annoyed expression. "There is a reason we have _appointed_ times called _appointments_. He can wait until three. I'm busy at the moment."

With a little nod, Fredrick left the room, tail between his legs only causing Montparnasse to smile. Falling down onto his elbows on the desk, he reached over for a manila envelope, took a pen from its holder, and began his procrastinated paperwork. Not even fifteen minutes later, a soft buzzing took over the quiet office room. Alerted by the noise, Montparnasse was just going to ignore his cell phone, but then decided to welcome the distraction. He opened up his top drawer to see an unsaved number illuminating the screen. With the tap of his finger, he answered:

"Hello?"

"Hello, Mr. Moreaux, I'm calling from Shieldtech Home Protection. There has been a breach of security in your home. Police will be called and dispatched to your home address immediately unless you are in full knowledge of this breach and can provide us with the code."

His mind was racing a million miles per second, brows furrowed, fingers tapping his desk mindlessly. A breach? But how? His eyes doubled.

Éponine.

Quickly, his fingers ceased their tapping, making quick work on his computer while he spoke into the receiver. "Yes, yes," he chuckled. Received two minutes ago was an email from iTrack Security with new coordinates of the tracker on her car's location. "My wife can just be stupid sometimes. It's our first day with this new security system. She tripped it by accident."

"Not a problem, Sir. If you'll provide us with the safe code, we'll shut if off and reset it for you."

"Of course. Five-five-eight-eight."

There was a brief pause and Montparnasse said nothing while his eyes scanned the newest email with the newest recorded location.

So it appeared she was on the move.

"Thank you, Sir," the man on the other end spoke. "Alright, the alarm has been reset. There should be a green light on the box now, you can double check that."

"Yup, I see it," Montparnasse easily replied, rising from his chair and shrugging on his coat with one hand. "Thank you for informing me about this anyway. Good to see my money being put to good use. Enjoy your day." Without delay, he ended the call and opened up the email application on his phone. "Fredrick!" he yelled, while his eyes stayed glued to the small screen.

Within a second, the freckled assistant had frantically barged opened the door and was staring at his boss. "Sir?"

"Tell Mr. Wagner that I'll have to cancel. There's been a break-in at my home - "

"Oh God, should I call the cops?"

"No, I've gotten it handled right now, but please cancel all my appointments for the rest of the day, I need to leave..." Suddenly, he stilled, keys in his hand, coat newly fastened, and then turned to Fredrick with a smug look. "...My wife is in trouble."

...

_Damn_.

The car was so cold, it moaned every time she stepped on the accelerator a little too roughly. The cold heat was blasting like a windstorm through the vents as she drove through yellow lights and raced through traffic. In the background, the radio played a thumping rhythm with something constantly being mentioned about basses. But Éponine couldn't hear it, or if she did, she paid it no mind. The only thing she heard was the sound of her heart erratically pumping against her chest.

Why couldn't this car drive any faster?

Why couldn't she live closer to the city?

Her hands were shaking by the time she whipped around the familiar corner and pulled off to the side street, illegally parking with the butt of her car in the crosswalk. She didn't care, for right now, she had no time to care.

Hastily, she fumbled with the knife, jamming it into the front zipper compartment of her suitcase. Good. That was her only protection should anything befall her. As she scrabbled with suitcase, she pulled it over the seat and out the driver's door, already running as soon as her feet hit the pavement.

It was nearing three and she knew time was running out. But she prayed beyond hope and reason, just _prayed_ that Enjolras was working today. She slowed to a jog, the suitcase behind her flipping and bumping along the uneven sidewalk, and pushed open the Musain doors.

Winded, she stood for just a moment scanning around as the door shut behind her. And then, those blonde curls turned around from the shelf of liquor and those blue eyes instantly widened. As a small relieved smile found her lips, his only took on a look of panic.

"Enjolras," she whispered.

No sooner though, were his arms around her, holding her tight as he had raced from behind the bar with the speed of light.

"Enjolras," she whispered again, his chest engulfing her face as tears pricked her eyes, ready to leave wet stains on his clothes. She held onto him with as much force as her muscles would allow, her hands fisting the material of his vest as she grit her teeth to keep the tears from falling out.

"Éponine," he breathed into her hair, loosening his grip when he felt her wince. He took a moment to take in her state. She looked relatively okay, except for the purple rings around her neck and the dark circles under her eyes. However those were the only noticeable blemishes on her, but he knew, where there was one, there was sure more. "Oh Éponine..."

"I left."

Suddenly, the hug was over as he pushed her back to hold her out at arm's length.

"You left?"

She nodded warily, her breathing becoming rapid once again. She had been expecting a joyous look from him, expecting him to wrap her up in his arms and whisper congratulatory words to her; she didn't expect him to push her away and give her such a look of contempt.

"What?" she asked.

A hand fell over his mouth and he shut his eyes for a brief second. "I'm just...you... I can't - Where is he?"

Her brows knitted together and she titled her head slightly, his words making her doubt every action she had just taken. "He's at work. I didn't tell him... Enjolras, I thought you would help me."

"God, yes..." he sighed with a few nods. "But the steps, remember? Éponine, there was a way to go about thi - wait, how did you get here?"

"I drove..." As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized the full weight of them. Those two little words eliciting a fear that enveloped her whole body in fresh heat. She turned rigid, face suddenly pale as alarm prickled down her spine in each agonizing second.

"Éponine, okay... Éponine..." he said, both hands resting on her shoulders and forcing her dead eyes to look in his direction. "Hey, it's okay...we just have to get you outta here. We need to get you as far away - "

"He's gonna come here. He's going to find me. He knows where I am. He'll kill you."

"No, no, Éponine. Shh." Tenderly, he wrapped his arms around her again; her body stone against his this time. "I won't let that happen. We're both going to leave right now. We'll call the cops, you'll come back to my apartment. I won't let him near you."

She didn't cry, but her body trembled as she peeled away from Enjolras, putting that familiar and always-present distance between them once again.

...

Recklessly, he drove down the busy little Boston streets, whipping and dodging through cars while every few seconds he tore his eyes from the road to glance at the phone is his hand. Swiping his finger down, he refreshed his email for a new update on her location. As of right now, the location had been the same for the past three emails and so he drove right where it had said. Drove right _there_.

He drove right to where he stalked out that stupid blonde bartender just last night, right to where he and the boys went for drinks, right to where he took Éponine for dinner that one night, and right to where he caught her a little over a year ago...by herself, drinking and chatting up with that same. Stupid. Blonde. Bartender.

...

"Okay, is this all your stuff?" Enjolras asked cautiously, bending down to reach the handle of the suitcase.

"Yeah, it's everything I could fit in there...it's not much."

"No, it's okay...it's okay," he mused, staring down at the suitcase hoping it would give him answers as he frantically tried to think of something. All of a sudden, his head perked up and he looked at her. "Did you grab any cash?"

She didn't respond but took on the look of an errant child.

He groaned softly, already receiving his answer. "Alright then...umm..." He rubbed his neck, thinking hard. "I've got a jar of bartending tips at home. We've gotta pay with cash...no trail...um... We'll drive home, get it, and check you into a motel for a few days. Yeah, yeah, that could work."

"What about Azelma?"

"I'll call her once you're settled. Right now, we _need_ to go. We have to get you away from here."

Quickly, Enjolras took hold of Éponine's suitcase and her arm as he yelled over his shoulder to Courfeyrac, informing him that he needed to leave and he'd explain it all later. When Courfeyrac emerged from the back room and saw Éponine, there was no explanation needed, he nodded and wished them to be careful. So, the pair walked out of the Musain, cautiously peering down the street before they headed out.

Their pace was almost jogging. There were no words spoken, only breathing and the rattle of the suitcase rolling in tow behind them. Enjolras led them down the blocks to his faraway car, cursing Boston for horrible parking. Still, he never let go of Éponine's arm, and she never wrenched from his grip. As they walked, his hand gently fell from her arm and slipped into her hand, casually interlocking their fingers. Neither seemed to notice or mind. For a just the brief time, Éponine liked it. She felt safe.

Her white coat stuck out against the bleakness of the city, while his red vest did just the same and the pair could be easily spotted by anyone driving by. Montparnasse was no exception. The black Mercedes cut in front of them as they were about to cross the street, screeching to a halt right in the crosswalk.

Enjolras' eyes doubled and quickly, he pulled Éponine in the opposite direction. But her feet were glued in place, fear immobilizing her. She could not see anything except for the cold green eyes hunting her down, slowly making their way out of the vehicle and closer to her.

Montparnasse was stalking down the sidewalk in large strides, closing in on her faster and faster as Enjolras pulled and pulled to make her move. When time had run out and Montparnasse was just a few feet from her, Enjolras intercepted, locking onto Éponine's arm with a hand behind his back and standing as a shield in front of her.

Éponine shut her eyes, feeling Enjolras' back touch her nose and her husband's presence on top of her all in no time at all.

"Step away from her," his eerie voice bit out through grit teeth.

But Enjolras' lip rose just as his eyes steeled over, his grip on Éponine minutely tightening with each passing moment. "Leave her. Alone."

"She's my wife. You think I'm gonna let some asshole like you get in the way?" Montparnasse took a step closer, eye to eye with Enjolras. "You've got another thing coming if you do..."

For a moment, Enjolras said nothing, but his eyes darted to watch a few miscellaneous people walk perpendicular to them down another block, but none turning down this Boston side street. Finally, his eyes rested on Montparnasse once more. "I won't tell you again. Leave her. _Alone_."

"And what are you going to do about it?" Montparnasse mocked. "You gonna make me?" He stepped around and to the side, but Enjolras faced him again, roughly shoving Éponine to keep her behind him. "Éponine," he called to her, his voice growing softer. "Come with me, 'Ponine. Let's go home."

"She's not going anywhere with you," Enjolras growled. "You want to see her again? You can see her in court - "

A small high-pitched gasp cut off his sentence which only caused a smirk to form on Montparnasse's face.

"You don't want that? Do you, Éponine?" he asked sweetly. "No, darling, you don't." He sucked in a breath, licking his lips to speak. "C'mon, Éponine, let's go home. This is all just the medication talking, I guess it hasn't all left your system yet. You don't really want to leave, stop with this nonsense."

"Medication?" Enjolras muttered under his breath.

"Yes," Montparnasse answered. "Éponine's crazy, didn't you know? You can't believe anything she's said. She lies, she makes up stories. Wait," he said, holding up his hands in armistice and taking a step back from Enjolras. "Wait...this - you don't honestly believe that I _hurt_ her, do you? Oh god, did you really fall for all of her lies?"

For just a fraction, Enjolras eyes furrowed as he watched Montparnasse retreat.

"I've been helping her," the black haired man carried on. "I take care of her. Why don't you ask her? Or better yet, why don't you look at her arms? Just look at what she's done to herself, and then you tell me if she's mentally stable." A pause, testing Enjolras' reaction. "She hurts herself, you know. All those scars, all those bruises, all courtesy of her. I try to stop her, I've tried to teach her, but she just...she needs constant monitoring. Why do you think I'm here for her now? She's crazy...but...she's my wife."

Enjolras waited, his eyes dropped to the ground as he thought out it. All the monitoring? Is that why her husband tracked her car? Is that why Babet used to watch her? He'd seen the scars himself, he knows she cuts, she admitted that. But is that really all this is? Is this just her making up stories? And then faintly, as his grip loosened on her arm, as he went to let go, he heard just the smallest whimper from behind him and he heard a small sniffle.

And perhaps it could've been confused for the wind, but Enjolras heard a little sigh come from her lips along with a breath: "I'm crazy?"

He shook his head just once and simultaneously, he let go of Éponine's arm entirely. "You son of a bitch," he said just as his fist connected with Montparnasse's face.

Montparnasse stumbled back a second, gaining his bearing before he locked onto Enjolras. He could see Éponine standing back a step, hands covering her mouth in horror. This time, Montparnasse didn't care about anything. Calculating his movements, he watched Éponine reach out for Enjolras' arm and saw the blonde look down at her; that was when he knew to strike. Without a moment's hesitation, Montparnasse punched Enjolras in the side of jaw with a sickening smack.

Éponine nearly doubled over as she gasped loudly. "Please," she cried.

But it wasn't like either of them were willing to listen to her menial plea. Instead, Enjolras didn't think, he acted. He lunged for Montparnasse, gripping his shoulders and slamming him into the stone building wall. Immediately, his knee collided between Montparnasse's legs, emitting a hallow cry from him.

Again, Éponine's cries were the loudest sounds to be heard.

Montparnasse was undeterred even if his manhood burned like it had been lit aflame. With one more solid punch, he whacked Enjolras in the side of the head, giving him the much needed time to get out of the blonde's grasp. In two steps, his hands had Éponine in a vice-grip. He shoved his face into hers so much that he was breathing right into her mouth. "Get in the damn car now. We're going home."

Suddenly, he was gone from her in an instant. When she felt his presence leave, she bravely opened her eyes to see Enjolras holding her husband by his throat. "Didn't I tell you to leave her alone?" he barked. "What don't you understand? Don't you see the suitcase? Éponine is not going with you. She's leaving!"

Montparnasse's pupils blazed for a split second before he shoved Enjolras off a him and stood to his feet once again, rubbing his throat and gagging on air. There was a brief pause as Montparnasse locked his eyes upon Enjolras and in not time at all, he lunged straight for him once more. He clawed his left hand at Enjolras' shirt while his other hand landed against his skull. Deftly, another punch landed in his gut, then another and another.

Éponine let out a strangled yell. "Please…please stop!"

Her husband didn't listen. Instead, he continued his onslaught of Enjolras, punching him down again every time he rose up. It was getting harder for Enjolras to fight back against him, his upper hand lost. Blood poured from his nose and his eyes began to droop.

"Gonna give up, pretty boy?" Montparnasse hissed.

"Hit me all you want," Enjolras panted, "but I still won't let you near her."

Montparnasse's fist coiled back again and this time, Éponine pushed herself between the boys, taking Enjolras' punch for him. The thud of her husband's fist collided against her temple, slipping off the side of her head. Not even dazed for a moment - having endured worse before - Éponine wrapped her arms back around Enjolras' torso behind her.

"I'll go with you!" she screamed. "Okay?! Please, just stop..."

A wicked smile grew over Montparnasse's lips as he saw the tears stream down her face, her eyes begging him...begging, pleading, entreating. He loved her like this.

Her voice was a breath. "Just don't hurt him..."

"Éponine," Enjolras whispered from behind her, placing a comfortable hand on her shoulder.

She whipped herself around, gently touching the side of his face in an act of compassion, staring deep into the crimson liquid that spilled from his nose. "Shh...I'll be fine. I'm always fine."

"No, please don't go - "

His words were cut off as Éponine's arm was seized by Montparnasse, pulling her back from Enjolras. She grasped onto Enjolras' vest as her eyes widened in alarm.

"Get away from him, Éponine. We're going home."

But his words only caused her to hold tighter to Enjolras, if only for a moment more. Quickly, she wrapped her arms around Enjolras' neck and push her face by his ear. "Call the police," she pleaded lowly, desperately. "Send them to my house."

"Éponine!" Montparnasse growled, yanking a handful of her hair and prying her from Enjolras' completely. She cried out, her hands flying to his hold on her hair. He dropped his head down right next to her ear and muttered, "You're mine. You do as I say, understood? Now get in the damn car before I cut out your fucking tongue."

Enjolras watched them carefully, barely moving, barely shifting; his focus was on her alone. "Éponine," he spoke one more time.

But in an instant, Montparnasse's fist flew into his face again, silencing him.

Éponine screeched. "You said you wouldn't hurt him!"

"I never said that, darling. Now keep walking."

She lifted her eyes up and met Enjolras' piercing, scared, and haunting gaze for a small second, watching him grip his nose with both hands. There was barely enough time to say, "I'll be fine," before Montparnasse shoved her, causing her to fall to the ground on her outstretched hands.

As he watched her stand up, he collected her forgotten suitcase from ground as well and stalked closer to her. With a sneer look to Enjolras, he caught Éponine's stumbling frame by the back of her neck - squeezing, pressing - manhandling her into the passenger side of his car.

When the car door slammed shut, she found Enjolras' worried eyes again and stared at him long enough to mouth once more; one final time, "I'll be fine."

...

There was nothing now. There was nothing except the silence, but even in the silence she was empty. Her heart was empty, her soul empty, and even her mind. The wind whipped outside the house, slamming into the windows over and over as if it were trying to break in.

Once inside the house, Montparnasse jolted her along with the suitcase in tow, all the way to the bedroom. There, he threw her to the ground with a strong shove.

"You think this is some sort of game?" he said, taking a stroll around her tired and limp body. "You think you can just do what you want? See who you want? And think there won't be any consequences?" Not even giving her a second to answer, he rammed his foot into her abdomen, forcing her to curl up into a ball. "How long did you think this was going to go on? You thought you could keep it from me forever? Thought I wouldn't find out the truth about you and that bartender?"

Éponine was ready to cry. It seemed everywhere she went, she ran into walls. She wanted to leave now, she did, but she didn't want to go someplace far away, for yes, Montparnasse would still find her there. She wanted to go someplace where no one could find her, where she would be safe from the thoughts hounding her mind, from the physical blows, and from the torture of living.

She wanted to die. She was ready to admit defeat like so many times before, give in and beg him to stop, but she held on to one thing that was stronger than even she herself was, something that helped her find the strength to stay in this fight, that helped give her power, will; that one thing was...hope.

She hoped with her very essence that help was coming, that she would get out of this quickly and that she would be gone from him forever.

_Forever_.

That word scared her and excited her all at once. Forever seemed like a long time - it was a long time. Was she ready to give up Montparnasse for that long, for forever?

Oh hell, she was.

"I _know_, Éponine. I know all about him."

Sucking in a breath, she pushed herself to her knees, balancing on all fours. "You don't know anything."

He gripped her by her hair again, pulling her head backwards so her chin thrusted up awkwardly. "Don't get smart with me, my dear."

The wind whipped again, clawing at the windows as if yelling at them. It howled and screeched, begging her, beckoning her. What did it want? What was it telling her to do? Her eyes glanced over to the large french doors and the snowy outside, the light from the bedroom illuminating the back deck, making the snow glisten like crystals, and then she saw her suitcase and remembered what was in the front pocket of it.

"No, 'Parnasse," she said firmly, rising to her feet even as his hand still clutched her hair. "You don't know anything about Enjolras. You don't understand. You will never understand." As she talked methodically, she detangled herself from his grasp, turning to face him and backing up a half step. "You think you know what's been going on, but you're just too blind to really see." His eyes stayed trained on her, even as she backed away from him. He knew she was scared, and it only turned him on. "You don't see any of the pain you cause, you just don't understand..." With the suitcase right at her feet, she gently bent down and unzipped the front part.

Sticking her hand into the pocket, she felt for the cold handle and closed her hand around it. When she locked eyes with Montparnasse, she knew she only had a few seconds to do this. She would have to be quick.

He took one step closer to her; a hunter targeting its prey, and she reacted. In one swift motion, she whipped the knife from the pocket and turned around to the glass doors. Fumbling with the lock for a precious moment she didn't have to spare, she threw open the door and ran outside. The snow pooled to her ankles as she stepped outside, her feet quickly propelling her down the deck and into the back yard, knife still clutched in hand.

She could feel the wind brushing past her as she raced toward the lining of the trees. One leap at a time, Éponine treaded through the snow, not at all feeling bothered by the cold or the blurring wind. It felt like icicles cutting right through her coat but she smiled.

Finally, she came to a big and tall tree, the one where she had seen her deer; the deer that watched her with perplexed eyes. Perhaps she would see it again? But it didn't matter, she didn't have time to wait to see the deer. This time, she was ready to run just as it had.

Then she heard the click.

It was a click of a gun, one loaded and locked on its target. She froze in her step. Now she was a deer being hunted, how fitting.

The distinct sound of the gun collided into her just as another gust of wind did. The cold air engulfed her at a standstill, coating her in a frigid warmth. Out of fear, the knife slipped from her hand, creating a deep imprint in the snow.

She heard nothing except the howl of the wind and her own labored breathing, piercing through it. She never heard the crunching of snow behind her, but clearly, she heard the sound of her name; a sound that ripped a shiver right through her, more so than the cold ever did.

"Éponine."

Her timid hazel eyes shot around along with her body and there was Montparnasse, standing ominously in front of her, one arm pointed straight out with a black revolver in its grip. The light from the bedroom cast a glow around him, hiding his face in darkness. But there was no mistaking the deadly gleam in his eyes, the brooding of his features, and the slight sudden curve of his lip.

"How long?"

Her eyes grew wide with terror, with fear as she stood there frozen. The heat of the anxiety coursing through her kept her warm as the wind gusted against her again. She couldn't speak. He took one step closer to her and she grew paralyzed - more than frozen, her breath stopped for a few moments.

"How long?" he asked again; his grave voice igniting an answer from her.

"I-I don't know what you're talking ‑ "

"How long!" he shouted, anger bringing out a vein in his forehead. "Don't play stupid with me, Éponine. I want answers. How long have you been fucking him?"

"W-we...we haven't ‑ "

Montparnasse didn't give her a chance to finish that sentence as he lunged forward. He held her arm tightly in a death grip, shaking her violently. "I just caught you with him. I saw you with him. Even Babet knew about you two! How long have you been lying to me about him?!"

"'Parnasse..." she whimpered. "It's not like that ‑ "

"Answer the damn question! How long have you been seeing him?"

She shut her eyes. "You know... Since October."

There was a beat and for a moment, the wind died away. Montparnasse clamped his hand tighter and threw her backwards, colliding her head into the tree.

She felt her jaw come up, slamming her teeth together from the force of the hit. Her mind fell dazed as she teetered forward, eyes having trouble focusing. She was ready to catch herself, but she couldn't help falling to her knees into the blanket of snow below. Staring down into the whiteness, her mind put together a vague picture of what she was seeing.

"What's this?" Montparnasse said, his tone sounding more like a whisper compared to his earlier bellowing. He reached down, hand falling into Éponine's vision as he gripped the handle of the knife and picked it up. "You gonna protect yourself with this?"

Unsteadily, she bobbed her head up and down, still gazing down at the snow.

Eerily, Montparnasse held out the tip of the knife, touching her chin with it and bringing her face up to his. Her scared eyes gazed into his intently, but there was a fire behind her fright, one that was aching, growing with fuel. "You've been lying to me...this whole time," he taunted, swirling the tip of the knife against the pale skin of her face. "Everything has been a lie. Everywhere you've been...everything you've done." His head tilted to the side. "All this time...you've been with him." His lips raised disgust, white breath looking more like flames from his lungs. "I should show you what happens to liars." In one swift movement, he pushed the gun into her mouth as he dropped the knife. With a free hand, he gripped the back of her head and pressed her into the gun. "I'll blow out your tongue for lying to me."

She could taste the cold metal on her tongue, feel every curve and edge of it - the feeling scared her. This small piece of metal was ready to end her life. With a gulp and the most steadying exhale she could find, she rested her teeth down on the gun and closed her eyes.

How could she protect herself now?

Slowly, he shook his head with a small chuckle. "I'd rather see you dead than with another man," he spit.

Tears were threatening to make a return, but she wasn't ready to let them. Perhaps this was the answer she had been looking for? She didn't really want to die, or did she? Shakily, she inhaled, even as the gun stayed stationed in her mouth. Her eyes opened to stare into her husband's and she narrowed them, just enough to assert her determination. "Then kill me," she said, her words muffled and almost undistinguishable. "Or I'll leave you for him."

Her words were enough to make his blood run cold. For the next moment, he was the one standing there frozen. But he was frozen only for a breath before he quickly shuffled hands, clambering the gun into his left hand as he reeled back his right fist and punched her in the temple.

Éponine fell back into the snow on hands and knees, feeling the pain swell around her temple. But at least the gun was out of her mouth, at least she could relish in that little fact. Sitting there panting for a few seconds, she waited for him to say something, for him to taunt her again, but he stayed quiet, watching her movements. Ready for him, Éponine pushed onto the snow below her and stood to her feet on quivering legs. Her lip trembled, but the tears never fell.

"Hit me," she said. "Hit me again." She spread her arms out wide. "Because that's the only time you ever feel powerful, right? That's the only time you ever feel like a man?"

His fist coiled again, ready to strike, and right as Éponine saw it coming, she ducked to her right. Immediately, his fist hit the air above her, his body stumbling forward.

The lights in the house beckoned her, and without a second thought she ran for it. It took a step to gain her momentum, the snow weighing her down. Montparnasse's eyes hardened as he saw her step away but in an instant, he was right behind her. She never made it far as he latched onto her coat sleeve, dragging her backwards over her own feet and letting her fall into the bone-chilling powder. He cast his gaze down upon her for a split moment; his gaze enough to make her breath catch in her lungs.

"You think you can run?" he asked.

She couldn't find a response but an audible gasp escaped from her mouth just as he dragged her back to her feet by her hair. But as he dragged her back up, her hands skimmed along the snow, pulling the knife up into her hand. Without warning, he slammed her backwards, colliding her lithe frame with the tall sycamore tree. The arm holding the gun crossed her chest, keeping her pinned against the tree.

His finger trickled down her abdomen, stopping at her midsection and palming her stomach, gently trailing his hand lower...and lower. "Disgusting," he murmured. "To think that his filth has been inside you. All this time," he said, pausing, "all this time you've been fucking him." His hand tightened around her waist, squeezing ferociously. "You are the most disgusting person I have ever known. How dare you do this to me. How dare you lie to me! How dare you fuck him!"

The shouts emanating into her ear had her cringing, so she shut her eyes tightly. But she waited a breath to compose herself before opening her now watery eyes. "No, Montparnasse. We never did - "

"You're lying!" he shouted, shoving himself against her roughly. "I'll kill you for lying to me. I told you I would."

She bit her lip to hold back her emotions and gather the courage to refute him. "No! No, Montparnasse!" she yelled harshly. "Enjolras has only been trying to help me. He's only my friend. That's all he is. We've never slept together. He's been trying to help me leave you!"

"Why? So you can be with him?"

"No! I _never_ loved him. Never. But I am done living with you. I am sick and tired of everything you've done to me! And I am tired of being lied to and manipulated. They're not punishments, Montparnasse. You hurt me, you abuse me. And I am tired of letting you. Enjolras knows law. He's been trying to help me divorce you. He's been trying to keep me safe...from _you_."

Montparnasse's face began to contort into a million expressions before he settled one of petulance. "Ha! You really think you can leave me, divorce me, just like that? You won't get anything from me."

"There is more than enough evidence, Montparnasse. I _am_ going to leave you."

"You'll never get away from me, my dear." He shifted his body against hers again, lifting the gun back toward her lips. "You are mine, you know you're mine. And even if you leave, I will always find you. You will run, but I will hunt you down like the prey you are...and I _will_ skin you alive."

The fear didn't reach Éponine this time. Rather than shrinking away from him, she pushed herself up higher in defiance and steeled her eyes. "No, Montparnasse," she voiced quietly but sternly, her grip on the knife handle tightening. "I am not yours. You can take away my possessions, you can leave me with nothing, you can control me, threaten me and hurt me. You can take away my body and take away everything I am, but I will not be yours. I am my own person. You. Cannot. Own. Me."

"You're mine!" he screamed, pressing the trembling gun against her throat, pushing deep enough to bruise. "Say it! 'I'm yours!' Tell me, Éponine! Say! It!"

She shut her eyes methodically and shook her head upon opening them.

He shoved into her again, using his whole body for leverage while he lifted the trigger on the gun just to cock it again. When she didn't respond to him, he shoved against her once more.

She had had enough. She was done letting him push her around, done allowing him to control her, and done being his bitch. In an instant, fury spilled forth in Éponine as she raised the knife, took in a deep breath, and swung the blade at him, growling: "I. Am. Not. Your ‑ "

The gun rang out.

Her eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly. Her body gave way to the struggling, staggering momentarily. Her eyes searched until they found Montparnasse's and instantly, as their eyes met, his entire ill-tempered demeanor disintegrated. She fell forward, his arms catching her.

Montparnasse grunted as he held her, his side stinging from where the blade sliced him. It had happened all at once and his fingers had pulled the trigger.

Pushing her back slightly, he held her out at arms length, too shock-still to move.

Neither said a word for a long moment as Montparnasse's eyes lowered to her shoulder to see her white coat staining red, blooming the warm crimson liquid like flowers across her chest.

"Éponine?" his wavering voice croaked.

She could neither inhale nor exhale as her legs buckled and she fell into the white blanket at her feet. Her hands gently groped at her shoulder to press against the wound, hoping to abate the pain; just as she had with so many other injuries before. But this pain only intensified.

Suddenly, Montparnasse's hands turned gentle, his movements turning unsure. Carefully, he laid her down, letting the snow cradle her head as he sunk to the ground on his knees next to her. "Éponine?" he called again weakly. "Talk to me, Éponine, please?" His throat was constricting, his words becoming hoarse. He didn't know where to place his hands on her, he didn't know how to comfort her, but he wanted to.

For the first and sincere time, he wanted to hold her and take away her pain, not inflict any.

Grinding his teeth together, he feather-lightly brushed her hair behind her ears, cupping her chin. "Éponine!" he screamed as his mouth stretched into a smile. "Éponine," he then whispered, staring into her piercing but vacant eyes. "I'm sorry..." His words came out in ragged breaths, barely decipherable to the human ear. "I'm sorry," he repeated, fisting his right hand into the back of her hair while his left hand delicately stroked her cheek.

Her head trembled, falling to the side to look at him as her breathing started again in sharp whiffs. "You...don't mean that."

Instantly, he shook his head back and forth at a loss for any other words in this moment. "No," he keenly exhaled. "I mean it. Believe me, Éponine. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..." His words died out as she began shivering, clutching the gunshot wound harder. He could only watch on in horror. "Éponine, please stay with me. Please don't leave me."

Silently, the tears just slipped from his eyes traveling down the length of his nose before one fell upon her cheek. He sucked in another breath, holding her fisted hair tighter and wiping her cheek clean from his tear. Longingly, his eyes gazed back to her wound, the blood now coating the entire upper half of her white coat. She was a single red flower in the midst of a cotton field, the only cerise in this world of whiteness.

But in the middle of this whiteness, her eyes fluttered shut, closing herself in on darkness.

"Please, Éponine," he begged through an onslaught of tears. "You have to stay with me." He gulped in a breath. "You need to. Listen to me, Éponine." His voice was growing deeper with a hidden aggravation. "Obey me, Éponine," he snarled with a shake of her body. "Stay with me! Please, I need you. I need you! Éponine, please, I love you!"

The words fell down upon her just as the flurries began to in the air. With a pain-staking effort, she opened her eyes a sliver, just in time to see Montparnasse's face melt away from anger.

"I love you," he whispered again. "I mean it," he tried to say but no sound ever made it out of his lips, instead, he could only mouth the words to her.

Torturously, she lifted a crimson stained hand away from her chest and touched the side of his cheek. He pressed her hand flat against his face and covered it with his own.

"I..." she murmured, with all the breath she could find. "...love...d...you." Slowly, she peeled her hand away from his face and lowered it back to her chest. Her words were no more than little puffs of smoke gently rising from her lungs and dissolving into the abyss of arcane air above. "I...loved you...for so long."

"Please..." he begged, "I need you Éponine."

"No...you don't. You don't need...me. And I don't...love you...anymore."

At the force of her words, he fell forward, pressing his forehead against hers as his body racked with a sob. "Éponine," he whimpered in a breath.

He was trying to convey to her everything he had felt for years, everything that had been built up inside him and pushed far below the depths of his heart. There was so much he wanted to tell her, so much he wanted to make her believe, but it was far too late. There were no more words from his mouth that Éponine would believe, there were no sentences, no fragments he could utter that would make her listen to him now. For it was for the first time, her words meant everything to him and his words meant nothing to her.

Composing himself, he leaned back on his heels and with trembling hands pulled his phone from his back pocket. He dialed in a number quickly and soon a faint voice spoke calmly from the other end:

"911...what is your emergency?"

With a large gulp, Montparnasse held the phone to Éponine's lips and spoke just convincingly enough to hide the tremor in his tone. "Éponine, tell them you're hurt." His voice stayed hushed so the person on the phone couldn't hear him. "Tell them your address..."

She stayed still, mouth and eyes immobile.

Gently, his hands stroked the line of her face again. "Éponine. Tell them your address."

Did she want to?

In her own false slumber, she still had not decided if she wanted to live or die. If she said their address, she would live, but if she stayed silent, then perhaps she would die. It was a day of firsts it seemed. For now it was, for the first time, the decision of her fate rested in her own hands. She was at the mercy of no one else but herself.

So in a gentle whisper, she parted her mouth and mumbled, "One Minette Court."

"Tell them you're hurt," he prompted.

She was silent for another second, gathering the breath for the words. "I'm...hurt," she murmured into the phone.

"And you're in the back yard." He waited for her reply which never came. The phone was trembling in his fingers as he held it close to her mouth. Waiting another torturous second longer, he shook it again in impatience and still she did not speak. Yet the only sounds that came out of her lips were shallow but steady breaths. "Tell them," he nearly demanded in a broken voice, still soft, but also so severe.

"I'm..." she said swallowing. "I'm in the...back yard."

In the next second, Montparnasse hung up the phone call and stood to his feet. Her eyes tried to follow him but as he stepped out of her vision, all she heard was a grunt from him and the sound of shatter. He kneeled down next to her again, this time, hands empty of a phone.

Tenderly, he reached his hands over to her chest and placed his hands on top of hers lightly. "Just keep pressing on it. It'll clot the bleeding," he instructed.

His voice was stern yet gentle and in that moment, she believed he truly cared. It was strange to her, she had never heard him speak like this - at least, not in a very long time, not since they were children. She found the strength to nod to him, staring intently into his dark and worried eyes.

Montparnasse's eyes began to water again, his face was red from the cold and from the tears; his cherry lips were looking a pale shade of blue as they quivered. There was a smeared line of blood from his temple to his chin, no doubt from when she touched him. The two gazed at each other for a long while it seemed, as Montparnasse's benevolent hands stroked her cheek kindly and her eyes fluttered.

It was that instant that Montparnasse leaned down and pressed his lips to hers, forcing his fire, his will to live, his own love upon her in one single breath. He moved his lips against hers, parting them slightly, trying to elicit any response from her, but there was none.

Pulling his lips back minutely, he gave her enough room to utter: "I'm sorry."

She didn't know why she was apologizing or even what for. Perhaps it was because she didn't kiss him back. Perhaps it was because she didn't love him anymore. Or perhaps it was because she felt she owed him one last apology for everything she's ever done and for everything she won't ever do for him again.

But whatever it may have been, Montparnasse pulled away completely and nodded solemnly. He gave her one more long and hard look, one more sympathetic and compassionate expression before he whispered in a voice that seemed to come from a place far away: "Goodbye Éponine, I love you."

He stood to his feet reluctantly but knowingly; knowing precisely what needed to be done and knowing precisely why he couldn't stay. The snow stuck to his black pants and the flurries crowded his ebony hair, coating them both in a layer of white; the glittering pallidity overcoming his own darkness. With one more glance at her vermillion covered body lying in an ivory snow, he turned on his heel and walked towards the house.

Her mind grew panicked as he retreated; he was her only lifeline. "Montparnasse!" she shouted as loud as she could, her voice raspy, breathless, and harsh. She saw his step falter and so again she yelled: "Montparnasse!" This time, his steps began again and he did not look back. "Montparnasse," she cried. "'_Parnasse_..."

Still, he never turned around and she watched him disappear into the house. She could see the shimmer of the room light on the deck before her eyes rolled back. She stared up into the vast world of dots, each falling fast toward her, spinning, twirling, dancing until they all morphed together and her world turned to whiteness.

In the distance, she heard a car engine start, but the sound faded away and she was left in silence.

The whiteness was peaceful, undisturbed. For a moment she could see an outline form in her white world. It was the shape of a deer, one staring at her with its large doe eyes, scared and bewildered. In its eyes, there was a flash of light and then the deer was gone. Suddenly, her world was no longer white. Now she lay in darkness; her mind awake, but her eyes unresponsive.

But then she heard a sound. Her mind was slipping, failing her, it must've been playing tricks on her for that moment she heard that velvet voice - her velvet voice - the one that came to her for times _just in case, _the one who would _do_ _anything_ for her, the one voice who she finally considered to be _home_.

He called for her. Her name on his lips was all she wanted to hear, it was all the comfort she needed, it was all she wanted.

And with that little sound, she let her world slip away, but her lips parted and she breathed:

"Enjolras...?"

...

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**End of Book I**

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...


	31. - Altered and Deleted Scenes -

**A/N: THIS IS NOT AN ACTUAL CHAPTER.  
****Trying something different here. So, I hope you won't get too bored...Enjoy!**

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...

Of Hockey, Harmonies, and Husbands

Altered and Deleted Scenes

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**Altered Scene: Chapter 20**

There was always a wandering pair of eyes watching her when she entered a room, especially in a bar scene. She was used to men ogling at her when she walked somewhere - even on the days she never wore make-up. She didn't understand it, but she learned how to deflect the attention, she learned how to stay away from men like those, and she very well learned how to put her foot down.

So, Azelma just kept her head bowed as she sat at the bar waiting for the one person who asked her to come here, ignoring some of the obvious stares. She had sat in an hour and forty-five minutes of traffic, so this better be good.

Hearing footsteps approach, Azelma lifted her head, expecting to see Enjolras but was then met with the bronze-haired bartender heading her way. He had on a smug grin as he eyed her up and down.

Instantly, she held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks. "If you say anything to me that isn't 'Can I help you?' then you can turn around right now and sure as hell leave me alone. I'm not here for you to flirt with me, so wipe that smirk off your face and walk away."

The bartender pursed his lips, obviously amused by her already. Undeterred, he walked closer to her. "Well that's sure one way to be greeted," he joked, holding up his palms to her. "So, _can I help you_?"

"I'm here to see Enjolras." She was blunt and to the point; her words as icy as her stare.

"You're looking at him."

Her eyes narrowed. "I'm not playing games."

"Alright, fine," he sighed. "Tell me your name and I'll get him."

"Don't you have a job to be doing?" she quipped.

"Oh honey, I _am_ doing my job."

She rolled her eyes, scoffing. "So, flirting is on your job description?"

"In here we like to call it: _interacting with clientele._"

She blew out a breath of air, shifting in her seat uncomfortably. "So, where is he?" she demanded.

"I didn't catch your name," he easily responded.

Her face turned rigid. "'Zelma. Happy now?"

"Well, I'm Courfeyrac. It's nice to meet you. You seemed a little inept at starting conversations, so I'm just showing you how it's done, sweetheart."

Mouth falling open in shock, Azelma crossed her arms over her chest. "Where's Enjolras?"

Courfeyrac's brows furrowed. "You seem a little hung up on him. Perhaps there is a secret love affair I don't know about? Which is weird because Enj tells me everything."

"Me and Enjolras are not together," she stated abruptly, not forsaking to let him hear the air of anger in her tone.

"Hey, hey! Not my business if he wants to keep his relationship a secret. I'd just appreciate him telling me so I'd know if you were off the market."

"For God's sake! Just tell me where he is or in two seconds I'm gonna hop behind the bar and look for him."

"Then you won't find him here. He's in the bathroom. Some woman clogged up the toilet." He leaned one elbow on the counter, bringing his head closer to hers. "So my advice is if you gotta go, just hold it until you get home."

She exhaled exasperatedly. "You don't know when to give up, do you?" she finally smirked.

"Years of practice," he said, righting himself up and flexing his knuckles. "He'll be out in a minute. Well, he should be."

"Finally!" she announced, a bit too over dramatically. "Finally. A normal and useful piece of information."

"And what? My name isn't normal?"

"Or useful," she muttered.

He looked genuinely at her for the first time, simpering down at her. "You're really something."

"Courfeyrac!" Enjolras hollered to which both turned their heads to see him walking up behind Courfeyrac. He smiled to Azelma quickly before he looked to Courfeyrac. "Would you stop bothering her? He's bothering you, isn't he?"

She drifted her eyes over to Courfeyrac again with a grin. "Not anymore."

Quickly, Enjolras darted his eyes between the two and still not getting it, he clapped his hands together once. "C'mon, Azelma, I've got something to talk to you about." He nodded to an empty table across the way.

_A/N: For this scene, I was experimenting with Azelma and Courfeyrac meeting and then developing a romantic relationship, but I realized it would take too long...so I made them already involved. _

...

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**Altered Scene: Chapter 27**

Peacefully, the snow fell around her. She didn't mind the brisk cold or the chilled snowflakes that landed on her flushed skin. Though her world was a warfare, it seemed that the actual world was at peace. It was full of white and clean promises. A breath of fresh air that promised hope.

Yet she knew that hope was beyond her reach and Éponine did not deserve that hope.

Slowly, she took her hesitant steps one by one down the back porch and into the deep snow. The weight of the world pressed on her, her thoughts would not let her find a moment's rest. The snow was fitting in her melancholy state - perhaps the angels were crying with her.

She took a deep breath, looking straight ahead and determined at the blinding snow. "I took my love and took it down..." she began to sing. But her song was no more than a whisper, nothing more than broken words strung together. "I climbed a mountain and I turned around..."

Each step through the snow felt as if it took all of her strength. The weight of her thoughts held her to the ground, making each step feel like it were a thousand pounds. Hugging her arms around herself she pressed on, "And I saw my reflection in the snow-covered hills..."

The blinding snow reflected the light of the sun, holding the promise that that things would get better for her. But only if she kept going. But it's hard to keep going. It's easier to fall. Another trudge through the snow with another soft crunch of it beneath her. "Till the landslide brought me down..."

She gazed up toward the sun, only to see a stream of white in her vision. The snow was falling heavier now. The gleam of the sun seemed to be fading. "Oh, mirror in the sky, what is love?" she questioned in her broken song. She didn't know what true love was. There had never been true love in her life, it was all a lie. Her hand slid down her arm and fell over her stomach. Gripping it was all tender and compassion, she wondered if this is what true love was? The tears were threatening to fall once again. "Can the child within my heart rise above? Can I sail through the changing ocean tides?" Her eyes closed and her feet stopped. She curled herself up, fighting back the sob as hard as she could. "Can I handle the seasons of my life?" she cried.

Was she really strong enough to do this? Was there really a choice for her after all? Was she ready to give up everything she's ever known now that she's learned it's been a lie? She never wanted change, she never asked for change. Yet here is was.

Her body shook from the force of her emotions, never mind the cold. "Well, I've been afraid of changing...'Cause I've built my life around you..." It was true. Her life was built for her husband, for everything he did for her and everything she did for him even if the balance was uneven. Her father told her marriage was give and take. She certainly gave...and gave and gave, and he certainly took. Only recently did she actually realize how unequal her marriage was. All of it had been lies and conforming to his ideals. She had never had the chance to be her own person. She was made of lies.

"...but time makes you bolder...even children get older..."

Her feet tried to move again. She desperately wanted to keep moving, she wanted to keep pressing on, but she couldn't. The wind whipped through her as she stood, and all she could do was huddle into herself, trying to become small and find sense in any part of her life. Her voice was broken now, full of tears and pain, barely audible to anyone if they were listening, "...and I'm getting older too."

She sucked in her breath, closing her eyes and letting the tears slip out on her exposed skin. "Well, I've been afraid of changing..." Her voice was growing as she was finding the determination to keep speaking the words that said everything she couldn't. "'Cause I've built my life around you...but time makes you bolder..." She was singing through the tears now, straining her blurry vision to watch the streaks of white in front of her, not caring how broken her voice was, "Even children get older, and I'm getting older too..."

And the realization hit her. "Oh, I'm getting older too..."

Her knees buckled and she fell to the ground. She buried her face in her hands letting the sobs rack through her frame. Her hand left her face and clutched her stomach. Through the water in her vision, she gazed down at her flat stomach, knowing it wouldn't be long now. The snow flakes fell steadily, not caring if they covered her as they made their decent to earth. It seemed like an eternity before she found her voice again, even if it was only a whisper. "I take my love...take it down..."

She dropped her head in despair and dropped the love in her heart. "I climb a mountain and turn around..." Raising her voice a bit higher now, she sang, "And if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills...will the landslide bring you down?"

She let her bare hands grab the snow in fistfuls. She was shivering and frozen to the bone, teeth clattering and lips blue but she didn't care. This was her misery. She held up a fistful of snow and let it trickle to the ground with the rest of the snowfall.

"...and if you see my reflection in the snow-covered hills...will the landslide bring you down?" Her shallow breaths puffed out, "...oh...oh..."

She fell quiet. She listened to the only sound of the snow falling around her and let that be her melody. Tucking her feet to her chest, she wrapped her arms around her legs and buried her face in her knees.

She was giving up.

"...the landslide'll bring you...down."

_A/N: As you just read, the song for this scene was originally "Landslides" by Fleetwood Mac. When I was searching for a song for this scene, I was driving and flipping through the stations and suddenly this sad melody came on and I just knew that this was the song. And the words just fit. But last minute I changed the song to "As Long As He Needs Me" because I felt like an Oliver! reference resonated more with Éponine. I don't know, what do you think?_

...

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**Altered Scene: Chapter 30**

Atop the bed lay an empty suitcase which she hurriedly tired to stuff as many items into as she could. The tears were pouring from her eyes, she couldn't see anything. She cried loudly to make the silence go away. She rammed drawers closed, she yanked clothes off hangers, and sobbed wildly as she did. Piling her clothes into the suitcase, she multi-tasked to sling on her white pea coat, ready to make a break within the moment. After filling it over the brim, she tried to zip the suitcase shut, but it was in vain.

Her feeble attempts only had her landing on the floor, crying hard into the comforter on the side of the bed. Rubbing her dripping nose along the sleeve of her coat, she whimpered into the soundless air. She gripped the quilt so tightly, turning her knuckles white as she turned to wipe her eyes across it.

It seemed everywhere she went, she ran into walls. She wanted to leave now, she did, but she didn't want to go someplace far away, for yes, Montparnasse would still find her there. She wanted to go someplace where no one could find her, where she would be safe from the thoughts hounding her mind, from the physical blows, and from the torture of living.

She wanted to die.

And she was determined. This time, she was going to do it.

Racing into the kitchen, she found the delicate, sleek, carving knife. She held it carefully as she walked back into the bedroom, staring at it as if it were gold. This was it. This was the end all now. Just like that, she was making up her mind, right here and now, to die. There was no way to go forward, no reason to keep living in some hell. She yearned for the nothingness and now here it was being presented before her.

She pushed away the suitcase to make a little spot for herself on the bed. She stared longingly into the knife, catching a glimpse of her eye in the light of it. If she was going to do this, could she really go without saying anything? What about a note?

No, she was too distraught to write.

But a phone call. One that would leave her husband racing to get here, only to find her dead. But did Montparnasse even deserve that? No. He deserved the torture of finding her.

But Enjolras. Yes, she could call him. And she could let him take care of Montparnasse. She could picture it now, she could see her dead body lying there as Montparnasse stood over her, blank expression shrouding his face. Then Enjolras would appear and he would fight Montparnasse, he would make sure he knew just what he did to her.

Rapidly, Éponine reached over and grabbed the phone from its dock. She dialed in the number she knew by heart - the number for _just in case._

Her heart thudded as she waited for him to pick up, and after six long thuds, he finally answered. "Hello?"

"Enjolras," she croaked weakly. There was no masking the pain and the tears in her voice. And this time she didn't care.

"Éponine? What's going on? Are you packed yet?"

"No, Enjolras. I won't be leaving."

"No, Éponine. Come on. We talked about this. Why don't you - "

"I _am_ going to go, Enjolras. Somewhere far away. Somewhere where Montparnasse can't find me and someplace where you can't come."

"'Ponine..."

"I'm sorry it has to end like this. But I can't do it anymore. There is no point in staying here. What is the point of running when he comes again? I'll never be safe."

"Éponine, you're scared. I get that. Please, but you're talking nonsense. I'll be right there."

"You'll be too late. I'll be leaving now, and I just wanted to tell you goodbye. You've helped me so much, Enjolras. I'm thankful for everything you've done. And I'm sorry I must leave you like this."

"You're scaring me, please, Éponine."

"I'm sorry," she whispered slowly.

"Épon - "

"Goodbye, Enjolras."

She hung up the phone, closing her eyes as a few more tears found their escape. "I'm sorry," she whispered again, looking down at her stomach.

The phone began ringing again, but she ignored it as she slowly stood from the bed. She positioned the knife above her heart and immediately, the wind blasted into the windows again. She tried to ignore it, praying for a quick release this time, praying for a painless way out. The wind whipped again, clawing at the windows as if trying to stop her. It howled and screeched, begging her.

She lowered the knife, staring out into the blueness that had befallen now that the sun sunk down. Perhaps the wind was right, or perhaps it only wanted to watch?

Éponine rubbed her eyes again as she carefully and methodically opened the french doors and walked out onto the deck. The snow pooled to her ankles as she stepped outside, knife still in hand. The light from the bedroom illuminated the back deck, making the snow glisten like crystals. She could feel the wind brushing past her as it raced into the bedroom from the open door, but she stared straight ahead into the lining of the trees.

One foot at a time, Éponine stepped through the snow, until she was down the four steps and out into the yard. She walked farther into the blurring wind, not at all feeling bothered by the cold. It felt like icicles cutting right through her sleeve but she smiled.

Finally, she came to a big and tall tree, the one where she had seen her deer, the one watching her with perplexed eyes. Perhaps she would see it again? But it didn't matter, for now, she was ready to do it. She was ready to die.

_A/N: Originally, I wrote the ending scene many different ways, but I kept running into logistical errors. But for this scene, I went back to the Brick and remember how twisted Éponine's thoughts actually were; how she wanted to bring Marius to the barricade so he would die along with her. Then neither her or Cosette could have him. So, I channeled her feelings from Hugo and wrote how she would get back at Montparnasse (in the Brick - Cosette) for what he (she) has done to her and how her actions would essentially hurt Enjolras (Marius) in the process of her own vendetta._

_But then in the end, I scratched this idea and wrote what you just read in Chapter 30._

_..._

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**Deleted Scene: Chapter 23**

"Enjolras!" Courfeyrac hollered, slapping the counter on his way to the kitchen. "Round of beers at table six! Guinness."

The blonde bartender sighed, running his fingers through his hair as he reached under the counter to grab a bottle of Sprite. "Who in the world is drinking beer at three in the afternoon?" he muttered to himself. But rather than grumbling more about it, Enjolras gathered up a few glasses to place under the tap.

As he was filling up the sixth glass, the phone in his pocket began vibrating, but Enjolras let it go, knowing he had his job to do. He finished putting the beers on the tray and unsteadily picked it up, carrying it across the bar to the rowdy table full of young twenty-one year old boys. His phone began vibrating again. Choosing to ignore it, he began to hand out the beers as each kid, in turn, chose to ignore him.

Finally finishing his task, Enjolras stopped behind the bar, and pulled out his phone. It was a number he didn't recognize and so he stuffed it back in his pocket. But like clockwork, the phone began vibrating again. He picked it up tentatively.

"Hello?"

"Enjolras?!" the voice came through the phone. "Hey, it's Éponine."

"Éponine?" he said, staggered. "God, what happened? Are you okay?"

"Well...well..." she said, trying to keep in a breath, but suddenly she let it out along with every word she could think of, "...well I just don't know. Like I've been calculating over and over and I just don't know. Oh God, and Montparnasse. I just don't even know what I'm supposed to tell him. What am I supposed to do?"

"Éponine, slow down. Wait, first before you say anything else, are you safe? Do you need me to come get you? Are you hurt? Where's Montparnasse?"

"No, I'm fine. Montparnasse is at work. But please, Enjolras, I need you to do me a favor..."

"Sure. Anything. What is it?" he asked anxiously.

She paused, breath going silent and for a moment, he thought she hung up on him, but then her voice came back through the phone, slow and methodical as if she had prepared this speech hundred of times over. "I need you to get me a pregnancy test."

_A/N: Ah, yes. Here you finally see what I've been referring to in the past few altered scenes - Éponine getting pregnant. I still like this idea, but for the story's sake, I cut it. It was another element that would have been too much to add in. And, I'm not too keen on writing pregnancy...so, now it's not in OHHH at all. But when I wrote early chapters, she was originally supposed to be pregnant, hence why I never mentioned about birth control or anything, but yeah...last minute decision to cut it. _

_..._

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**A/N: Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this little inside look into my "cutting room floor" scenes. I do think that some of these scenes might make it into my actual novel for this story...still debating, but it would be nice to give y'all a partly different version of what you've read already should this ever by a miracle be published.**

**Also, I'll just add quickly that Book II is coming...it's just taking much longer than expected. I apologize, and I hope you don't forget about this story when I finally get it up...But **_**for now**_**, this is goodbye. But goodbyes are not always forever, sometimes they're just a "See you later" in disguise.**


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